


Set in Stone

by merulanoir



Series: Forget Me Not [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Basically a million headcanons, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Established Relationship, M/M, Mating Bond, Pack Dynamics, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-11 21:09:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 70,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15980561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merulanoir/pseuds/merulanoir
Summary: Upon their arrival to the free city of Novigrad, Geralt and Regis are summoned to meet the emperor who has settled into the city for the time being. He has a job for the witcher: Children are going missing, and Emhyr var Emreis is willing to hire them both to find out why.Dark shadows creep over the city, and both Geralt and Regis need to overcome ghosts of their past in order to survive.A sequel to 'Heartsease,' but can basically be read as a stand-alone fic as well.EDIT: Chapters have been tweaked a bit; the first chapter is much longer now. ;)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are! This is a sequel to 'Heartease,' but as the summary says, you can read this as a stand-alone fic. Just, I dunno, assume that Geralt and Regis got together sometime during the events of Blood and Wine and that Dettlaff survived.
> 
> This fic is finished and unbeate'd. I did finally acquire a spell-checking writing program, so that's something. :) I'll post it as I manage to slog through the proofreading process.
> 
> The 'Graphic depictions of violence' warning is there for canon-typical violence. This is no gore fest, so rest assured. Additional tags will be added later, but that is the only archive warning that needs to be used.
> 
> For the prologue: I am not a midwife. All errors are my own. This is fantasy, so just squint really hard if they bother you.

**Prologue**

 

Geralt didn't rightly know how he'd ended up assisting in childbirth, but there he was; his hands were covered in blood up to his elbows, his sweaty hair was sticking to his brow, and his eyes stung because of the herbs the midwife had been burning in the small hut. He huffed a breath, not daring to speak as he offered yet another warm, wet cloth and threw away a used one.

Regis was focused on the laboring mother-to-be, his black eyes sharp. He was muttering something under his breath –” _breech, premature, frank breech most likely, external version not working”_ – and keeping his fingers on an artery, monitoring the pulse. His forehead was glistening with sweat, but he seemed calm. In the dim light of the room, he was the focal point.

The woman wailed. She was giving birth to her first child, so it was only natural she was afraid. She had been in pain for hours. She was young, not twenty summers. Her husband could be heard outside of the house; pacing back and forth, begging to be let in.

The village midwife had come pleading for help as Geralt and Regis had been prepared to leave Heatherton. A young woman's contractions had lasted for hours, but the baby would not come. Geralt had been unable to say anything, but Regis had simply nodded and gestured for him to follow. They had been led to the midwife's hut on the outskirts of the village; inside, they could hear the cries and the sobbing, as the young wife tried to give her baby a fighting chance.

Regis was doing something with his hands, pushing against the woman's lower abdomen, and she gave a shriek of pain. Regis hummed and continued, until Geralt could see something peeking out. Regis stopped then and laid his hand on her thigh.

”I know you're hurting, Cassie, but now you need to push,” he said, and somehow through the haze of pain the woman seemed to understand him. Her face was contorted in agony and her face streaked with sweat and tears. Regis stroked her thigh gently. ”It will be over soon. You can do it,” he said. The woman, Cassie, drew in a breath and pushed.

The baby came out slowly, feet first, but they were folded against the body. Geralt didn't know shit about childbirth, but even he thought the little ones were supposed to come into the world head-first. He could see the baby was small, way smaller than any he had ever seen. It was a girl.

Regis was ready. He took the baby in his arms and quickly seemed to clear her mouth and nose of the blood and fluids. There was a tense moment of silence, and then the infant started to cry. Cassie gave a sound that was between a sob and a laughter, her face exhausted. Regis cut the umbilical cord and handed the baby to the mother. He wiped his hands on a clean cloth and smiled.

”You did so well, Cassie. It's a girl,” he murmured, stroking her hair and watching Cassie cradle the baby against her breast. She was crying, but now they were happy tears. The baby was fussing, less frantically now that she could hear his mother's heartbeat again. Geralt smiled too.

The door opened and a young man peered inside. His eyes were wide and his freckled face was the colour of curdled milk.

”Is... Is Cassie- I mean, the baby?” he stammered as he tried to adjust to the hut's dim light.

”Your wife is alright, Georg,” Regis said. “You can come in. You have a daughter.”

Georg let out a profoundly relieved laughter and rushed to the bed. Cassie looked at him and smiled weakly, her eyes shining.

Geralt was happy for them. Georg clearly loved his wife deeply, despite being very young. He had a good family and an apprenticeship at the local smith. Cassie was training to be a merchant. Their life seemed simple and good. Their daughter had been born as healthy as any, and now they were a small unit, knit together by blood and a familiar bond.

Regis nudged his shoulder, smiling.

”Come, Geralt. The midwife can handle the rest,” he said and went on outside. Geralt cast a last glance at the small family. Georg looked back at him, seemingly only now realizing he was not an ordinary human. Before he could say anything, Geralt ducked out of the small house.

Night had fallen. The air was cool and clear, a crescent moon and innumerable stars shining in the sky. The village was asleep, and only the sounds of nocturnal critters and the low murmur of the midwife's voice inside the hut could be heard.

Regis was washing his hands in a basin the midwife had set up next to the door. His face was relaxed and his shoulders had a relieved set. Geralt joined the vampire and was handed a bar of soap and a washcloth. He scrubbed his hands clean, only now realizing it was probably the first time his hands were covered in blood because he had helped someone into this life, not out of it. The realization settled deep into his chest, its weight heavy but not unpleasant.

When Geralt was done, he and Regis reclaimed their bags and made the walk back to the inn. They had planned on being on their way today, but now they settled on staying in Heatherton for one more night. The midwife had told them earlier she'd informed the innkeeper, who in turn had promised them rooms for free.

They made the walk in silence. The inn was quiet, only the master was dozing in the main room. Geralt shook him awake gently. The man gave a snore and a jump.

”How's Cassie?” he blurted out, blinking sleep from his eyes. Regis smiled.

”She's doing fine. It's a girl.” The man broke into a smile and swiped a hand down his stubbly face. ”Cassie, she's a dearie, that one. What a stroke of luck you happened to be here, master Regis. Your room is ready, the same one you stayed in. I changed the bedclothes on both of the beds and left some food and drink on the table.” Regis nodded at him gratefully.

Once inside their room, Geralt let out a breath and sank on one of the beds. Regis gave him a smile and brought the food over, snuggling close to him on the bed once he sat down. They ate in silence.

”Are you alright?” Regis asked, once they had undressed and Geralt had pushed the beds together so that they could sleep close to each other. The vampire was lying on his side, his hand resting against Geralt's side, fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin. Geralt lifted an eyebrow.

”Hardly the bloodiest thing I've ever seen,” he chuckled. He reached over and brushed his fingers against Regis' cheek. Regis smiled wider.

”I know, love, but I would be ready to wager you have never witnessed a childbirth before,” he said and smiled knowingly so that his fangs glinted in the dim light. Geralt laughed.

”Nope. I was just thinking how weird it is that I've been killing monsters and men for so many years and never seen a baby being born,” he said in a low voice. ”You were amazing. The woman seemed to trust you right away,” he added, his smile turning a touch softer. Regis hummed and closed his eyes.

”It has been years since I last delivered a child, but I'm glad we were here. The baby was facing the wrong way, and I'm not certain she would have managed on her own,” he answered. Geralt nodded and threaded his fingers into the dark curls. Regis' hair was longer and blacker, and Geralt loved seeing it like that.

”As I said. Amazing,” he said, grinning at Regis' apparent modesty. The vampire gave a laugh and shifted closer, bringing his arms around Geralt.

”I'm glad you were there helping me. It eased my own concerns, having your unflinching presence nearby,” he whispered. Geralt huffed an amused laugh before kissing Regis' forehead and closing his eyes.

 

 

**I**

 

Geralt saw Farcorners' huts and roofs swim into view through the afternoon haze. He loosened Roach's reigns a bit and took the view in. The district stretched across the landscape, bordering the Novigrad walls and never really ending adruptly to signify the place where the city ended. It was as it had always been, a sprawl of houses and huts mixing with the countryside. Much like Novigrad as a whole, Geralt thought as Roach shook her mane and Regis caught up with him.

”I much prefer this manner of arrival to the city,” Regis said cheerily as their mounts made their leisure way down the hill. Geralt snorted, but couldn't help feeling a twitch of sympathy. Regis had rushed to Novigrad to alert Dandelion, Zoltan, and Ciri to his help when Anna Henrietta had thrown him into the Beauclair prison. He had told Geralt everything that had happened, and the rest had been conveyed via their bond. The dominant feeling had been a mixture of dread and worry.

”Yeah. Last time I came here, we were on our way to Skellige to battle with the Hunt,” Geralt answered. Regis looked at him.

”Mm. This was right after you and Cirilla had killed Imlerith, correct?” he asked. Geralt nodded, and felt glowing pride for his daughter of surprise when the memory came back to him.

”I killed him, but Ciri took out two of the Crones by herself,” he explained. Regis smiled, a fanged grin before he would be forced to hide parts of himself in the midst of people.

”I can feel how proud you are,” he said softly. A brush of warmth skittered through the bond, making Geralt feel both hot and cold.

Despite having had this bond with Regis for several months now, at times it still took him by surprise. Regis apparently saw his expression, and once again showed how he didn't need the bond to know exactly what Geralt thought.

”As for arriving into the city,” he continued with feigned nonchalance, “I am not by any means _complaining_ about sleeping under the stars, but staying in The Chameleon does hold its merits.” He gave the witcher another grin, and Geralt suppressed a groan.

Regis was also unfairly good at riling him up. He didn't need to do anything but look at him the certain way, and Geralt's mind turned into a mass of twitching nerves and want.

”Yeah, yeah, you can admit you like your comforts,” Geralt grumbled. “Not like you have to ride with me when you could just mist your way there.”

Regis cocked his head, the mock affront slipping away almost instantly to be replaced by laughter.

”Oh, my dear, but the comforts and pleasures only increase their value when one abstains for a while,” he muttered, as a patrol of Nilfgaardian soldiers passed them by. Geralt rolled his eyes and shifted in his saddle. Damn the vampire.

The soldiers paid them no mind, save for the sergeant riding last. His eyes lingered curiously on Geralt, who nodded at the man. The sergeant nodded back, clearly never having seen a witcher before.

Regis glanced at them.

”Must be curious to see the black sun banners fly over Novigrad after all this time,” he observed. Geralt nodded, his eyes having found the same sight.

”Damn right. But not bad weird, mind you. I used to hate riding to Novigrad at the end of the war. They were always burning mages and nonhumans by the gates.”

Regis made a sad sigh.

”Such _waste_. And those wounds will take years to mend,” he muttered. Geralt only nodded.

”But, as I understand it, lady Yennefer has been tasked with diplomacy concerning the Lodge of Sorceresses and other magic users,” Regis continued thoughtfully as they passed the first houses of Farcorners. “And they have been busy with negotiating with the Aen Seidhe.”

Geralt nodded again.

”Yeah. The empire has agreed on making compensations on behalf of that fuckwit Radovid. It's plain they're trying to buy their loyalty, but as far as I know it's been working out alright. The elves are relieved that they now have the law on their side when people behave like assholes, and dwarves claim to spit on Emhyr's gold, but they need the trade as badly as the rest of the people,” Geralt said.

He had mixed feelings about Emhyr var Emreis, but after the war the emperor had apparently thrown all his considerable brainpower into the matter of truly pacifying the North. Velen was slowly being rebuilt, and wherever Geralt had looked during their ride from Toussaint, he had seen hope in people's eyes for the first time in many years. The difference was there, and he couldn't deny it.

Geralt shook his head to clear it. He didn't want to get mixed up into the politics now anymore than in the past. He was happy to see the racism towards nonhumans was abating and that the countryside once more had a chance to offer something to the people. That was enough for him.

”Changing subjects, I still can't believe Ciri made you meet Emhyr,” Geralt said when they reached the bridge that took them to the Glory Gate. Regis chuckled as he dismounted.

”You've better believe it. I was terrified even before his imperial majesty commanded Cirilla and lady Yennefer to leave the room,” the vampire said, meeting Geralt's amused eyes over the backs of their horses. There was a short line of people waiting to enter the city. The Nilfgaardian administration had apparently started to collect a modest toll from those who wished to enter the city.

Geralt laughed as he loosened the girth a notch and waited their turn. “I can imagine. Didn't know he was that well-versed in my adventures, although it really doesn't surprise me much.”

He stroked Roach's neck and once again told himself it was alright. Emhyr was inquisitive by his very nature. Of course he would've wanted to find out everything about Geralt if he was to pay the witcher to find Ciri.

”Anyway, it's nice to come here without some disaster looming over my head,” he added to Regis as they moved towards the toll booth. “I just want to go see my friends and maybe sneak Ciri out of the court if I can manage that,” Geralt said and huffed. Regis smiled and looked almost wistful.

”Last time, I thought almost the same thing. How very much I would have liked to come here with you,” he said quietly as the elven merchant in front of them finished paying and moved towards the Lacehalls.

When they reached the official and the soldier manning the modest booth at the gates, Geralt dug out his coin purse to pay the toll. He didn't mind doing it, because unlike the Redanians, the Nilfgaardian officials were kind of particular about the whole corruption prevention policy they had going on.

The official accepted the coin and looked them over genially.

”Good day to you both. What brings you to Novigrad?” he inquired. Geralt made a noncommittal gesture.

”Meeting friends, seeing if there's any work available for me,” he answered. The official nodded.

”There always is, as far as I know. I hope you enjoy your stay,” he said and waved them through. The soldier's eyes lingered on the twin swords as they passed the gates.

Geralt had half a thought of taking the shortest road to his customary stables and then to the cabaret, but suddenly the narrow street rang out with the hooves of an imperial warhorse that came to a stop right in front of them. It was carrying a soldier in full regalia. The man looked at him like he knew who Geralt was. The witcher felt his mood plummet.

”Geralt of Rivia?” the soldier asked in polite tones and with a distinct Nazairi accent. Geralt nodded dejectedly.

”Master witcher, you and your companion are hereby cordially summoned to the imperial administrative building. His imperial majesty and the crown princess have requested your presence immediately upon your arrival into the free city of Novigrad,” the man said, clearly speaking word for word according to the summons. Geralt heaved a sigh.

”Yeah, fine. Lead the way,” he said as he tried to mount up and caused the whole saddle to slide sideways and almost dump him to a puddle. He had already forgotten he had loosened the belt. Roach whickered unhappily and Regis was suddenly very interested in the walls of the surrounding buildings. The bond rippled with suppressed laughter. Geralt scowled as he avoided the soldier's eyes.

The soldier took them through Gildorf and over St. Gregory's Bridge. The imperial court and administration had occupied many of the buildings in the Elector's Square, and the whole area was looking clean and busy. Geralt noted that he could see several mages and elves inside the city walls, and he concluded the efforts to reintegrate them into the city had been at least moderately successful. Regis was looking around the entire time, clearly taking in the city and enjoying it despite the interruption.

The soldier dismounted in front of their destination and gestured for them to follow. Servants immediately rushed to take their horses out of their hands, and Geralt surrendered the reigns with a resigned sigh.

”Please follow me,” the soldier said and led them through the heavy front doors. Geralt could tell the building was of dwarven make by the fact that all the noise from the square immediately died away as the doors closed. The soldier walked the length of a long hallway and opened a door on left, gesturing for Geralt to enter. Regis followed him and looked back as the door was closed.

The room they had been directed into was small and sparsely furnished. Geralt swept his eyes around it and then sat down. Regis followed suit and looked at him amusedly.

”Is this usual for you? Being summoned right at the gates?” he inquired. Geralt rolled his eyes.

”More or less. Usually by this time they'd have stripped away my armor and swords, and forcefully bathed and shaved me before stuffing me into a doublet two sizes too small,” he muttered. Regis smiled and placed a hand on his knee.

”Maybe Cirilla has requested for kinder treatment for his surrogate father,” he suggested. Geralt shrugged, but placed his own hand on top of Regis' for a while. The contact calmed him considerably.

”Don't mean to bitch and moan. I was just looking towards a bath and meal at the cabaret, not this,” he said in a low voice and gestured around the room. Regis nodded. Geralt felt a rush of compassion come through the bond. He smiled.

The second door opened and in walked the one person who could make the situation more miserable. Emhyr's chamberlain looked at Geralt and Regis and clicked his tongue.

”The gentlemen will follow me, please,” he said, not bothering to hide his disdain for their dusty clothes and general weariness. Geralt got to his feet and felt his temper rise.

”Nice to see you too, Mererid. If you don't like seeing me dirty and tired, maybe don't send summons the second I walk through the city gates,” he said with a bite. It was tiring to be met with contempt when doing what was being asked. Regis' eyes widened fractionally, but Geralt sensed a tiny ripple of amusement coming from him.

The chamberlain turned to regard him coldly. ”His imperial majesty and his heir wished to see you both, and they were rather specific about their request,” he answered before turning heel and marching along another long hallway. Geralt snorted.

”I bet. And you can shave and bathe me, but Regis gets to choose whether you lay your hands on him.”

”Geralt-” Regis began in a very low voice that Mererid wouldn't be able to hear, but the chamberlain wasn't paying him any attention.

”You will not be staying. This is a contract offer from the emperor, _vatt'ghern_ , not an invitation for you to grace the imperial building with your presence,” he said without so much as a glance towards them. Geralt couldn't come up with anything to answer before the chamberlain opened double doors at the end of the hallway and announced, “Geralt of Rivia and Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy.”

Geralt strode past him and stopped at what he deemed a respectful distance. Emhyr var Emreis was standing beside his desk and Ciri was by his side. The former was looking at them with cold, appraising eyes, the latter beaming. He simply nodded at the emperor and then turned and smiled to Ciri. He was vaguely aware of Regis making a short, formal bow and greeting Emhyr with some polite phrase or another. It didn't bother him. Regis had always had all the grace he himself lacked.

”Geralt!” Ciri grinned and rushed to hug him. Geralt hugged her back. When he let her go, she turned to Regis and hugged him too. Regis embraced her warmly; he was still clearly getting used to her not being afraid of him.

”It's so good to see you both. I hope your journey went well?” Ciri said as she pulled back. Regis smiled and nodded.

”Yes, it was calm by all accounts. It's evidently clear the rebuilding effort is well underway,” the vampire said kindly, clearly directing his words to both Ciri and Emhyr. Ciri nodded and looked satisfied.

”I'm glad you noticed. And I'm sorry for dragging you here like this, but papa insisted,” she said and cast a critical glance at his father. Emhyr lifted an eyebrow.

”The matter is delicate-” he begun, but Ciri interrupted him. “I _know_ , and we've talked about this. It's uncouth to summon people when they have had no time to settle into the city. Especially when these people happen to be dear ones,” she said. Geralt bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing out loud. Emhyr was glaring at Ciri, who was looking right back at him, as if daring him to take the bait.

Geralt had been worried Emhyr would walk all over Ciri, but apparently he had been fretting for nothing. If anything, the emperor of Nilfgaard was getting exactly what he deserved. Her being related to Queen Calanthe and Emhyr var Emreis, it was no wonder Ciri had such character and strong will about her.

Emhyr surprised Geralt by simply sighing and gesturing towards the chairs. After they had seated themselves he pinned Geralt down with his goshawk eyes.

”Despite what Cirilla said, the matter cannot wait. I have a contract to offer you. One that requires extreme discretion,” he said. His voice didn't betray any irritation, or any other feelings for that matter. Geralt nodded, intrigued against his will.

Emhyr crossed his fingers and leaned forward. “There have been several disappearances in the city during the past month. Children have been going missing and the imperial guard has been unable to find out why,” he explained. Geralt crossed his arms.

”Anything in common with the kids?” he asked. Emhyr shook his head.

”Nothing obvious. There have been three cases affecting well-off families, otherwise they have all been from poor areas like the Bits.”

”Yeah, no surprise,” Geralt hummed, thoughtful. “And you think these cases are connected because?” he asked.

Emhyr's eyes narrowed. “I have no proof they are, but since there have been eight already, I think it prudent to investigate.”

Geralt sat back and thought about it. “I see. You don't want the Nilfgaardian rule to be associated with kids going missing,” he said. Emhyr merely nodded. Ciri leaned forward.

”Will you take the job? I feel bad for the kids. I'd have done it myself, but...” she trailed off and Geralt bit back his smile.

”I'd hazard a guess your days are rather full without doing witcher's work,” Regis said. Ciri laughed. Geralt nodded. “Alright, I'll do it,” he said. He had known he'd agree. Whenever Emhyr dragged him somewhere to offer him a job, he had a good enough reason for it, at least.

The emperor nodded to him. He seemed pleased, if one could decipher any emotion from his face at all.

”Very well. I urge you to take extreme precaution to avoid the general public from knowing about this. We want to avoid panic.”

Geralt almost rolled his eyes. He had a strong inkling that Emhyr didn't give a shit about the common folk’s alarm and only wanted to avoid staining his own reputation. He kept his thoughts to himself. No need to rile him up if there was a chance he would take his temper out on Ciri.

”You're paying me, right?” he asked instead.

Emhyr nodded. “Naturally. Your upkeep will be paid for, and upon completing the job you will receive a payment of two thousand crowns,” he said. Geralt whistled.

“You're not afraid I find out it's just random disappearances and you have to pay me that much?” he asked and grinned against his better knowledge.

Emhyr looked at him, unimpressed. “I am willing to take that risk.”

 

After receiving further details from Emhyr's captain of the guard, the emperor whisked Ciri away and Geralt and Regis were escorted out of the building. Late afternoon sun was painting the rooftops and the streets with a golden glow as they rode down from the Temple Isle and finally towards the cabaret.

”So, what do you think?” Geralt asked Regis. The vampire hummed and looked at him thoughtfully.

”It's certainly intriguing. Disturbing, too,” he said as his horse picked its way through a throng of beggars at the foot of the hill.

Geralt nodded. “My thoughts exactly. I'm hoping it's just random cases and Emhyr's fretting over nothing.”

Regis smiled and nodded. “What's your plan of action, then?” he asked.

Geralt fell silent for a while, thinking about his options.

”If you wanna help, we could start by questioning the families first thing tomorrow. Go see the places where the kids vanished,” he finally said when they reached Hierarch's Square. He looked around and was pleased to see the pyres had indeed vanished and had been replaced by more merchants and people. Despite the approaching evening, the place was noisy and filled with smells. Spices, raw fish, sweat, and smoke. Everything he associated with the place, minus the scorched human flesh.

Regis smiled at him.

”You'd take me with you?” the vampire asked hopefully.

Geralt laughed. “With you tagging along, I have a much better chance to get the families to talk. I scare people, whereas you look harmless,” he said teasingly.

Regis laughed, too. “Harmless, indeed,” he chuckled as they turned left on the corner of the bookstore.

The Chameleon came into view and Geralt let out a satisfied huff. Well, at least they were going to be able to abuse Emhyr's purse during their stay. He was surprised to see a familiar stable boy waiting by the front gate.

”Master witcher!” he called out when he noticed the pair. “I was told you were in town! Would you like me to take your horses?”

Geralt nodded, and soon he and Regis were left standing in front of the cabaret with their things, as the boy jogged away with their mounts and a few coins.

”I bet Ciri tipped him off,” Geralt muttered as he shouldered his way through the front door. He heard Regis chuckle behind him, but it was drowned out by a thundering _“Geralt!”_

Geralt grinned and clapped his hand on Zoltan Chivay's shoulder.

”Hi, Zoltan. Looking good,” he said as the dwarf looked him over and smiled widely.

”Aye, and so are ye. After what Dandelion told me about your mishaps I was actually a wee bit worried,” he answered. Then his eyes moved to Regis and his smile widened.

”And Regis! Good to see you again. Better circumstances this time 'round, eh?” Zoltan laughed as he shook hands with Regis. Regis nodded, and his own grin threatened to show his fangs.

”Indeed. It's good to be back,” he said.

”Where's Dandelion?” Geralt asked. Zoltan barked a laugh.

”Somewhere with Priscilla, tryin' to talk some sense into the evening's performer. The man started demanding double pay, and our master bard’s not havin’ any of that,” the dwarf chortled, apparently entirely unworried about the thing.

”Listen, Zoltan. We're going to be staying a while. You've got a room for us?” Geralt asked.

Zoltan nodded. “Aye, Ciri popped by earlier today and warned us you might. No need for you two to share, even,” he said and gestured towards the stairs.

Geralt felt uneasy, then. He'd thought Dandelion would have blabbered about everything that had taken place in Corvo Bianco, but apparently the bard had managed to leave out the one bit Geralt wouldn't have minded to share this way. From the corner of his eye, he saw Regis give him a short, troubled glance.

”Uh,” he begun.

Zoltan started laughing. “Ach, I'm just pullin' your leg. Dandelion told me everything, not like he could leave out the most juicy bit of news,” he grinned, eyes twinkling. “You have a room on the fourth floor, here's the key.”

Geralt accepted the key, his neck feeling warm. Zoltan looked at them both. He was still grinning, but the expression slipped into something warmer.

”No need to squirm. You're my friends and I'm happy for ya,” he added good-naturedly.

”Thank you, Zoltan. Your words mean a lot,” Regis said, saving Geralt from answering.

Their room turned out to be bigger than the standard inn rooms they had grown accustomed to. It had a separate alcove for the bath and a large, comfortable bed. Geralt dumped his gear on the floor and set his swords to lean against the nightstand.

”Wow. Ciri must've told them who's paying for our lodgings,” he said, taking in the heavy curtains and soft carpet. Regis laughed as he deposited his bags neatly on his side of the room.

”I am not complaining. You have to start taking me with you when you work.”

Geralt snorted. “You might want to reconsider that wish. Usually I stay where it's cheapest, if I have time to sleep at all,” he said as he went to inspect the bath. The tub was almost luxuriously big, and a note left by the staff told him they could ask for hot water whenever they wished.

”The Nilfgaardian rule's not all bad. They've clearly started importing their own soaps and stuff here,” Geralt called out, but was cut short when strong arms sneaked their way around his waist. Regis hugged him close and pressed his nose into the nape of his neck.

”As I said, I'm not about to complain,” he hummed. Geralt closed his eyes, leaning a bit against Regis and enjoying the closeness.

They stood there for a while. Geralt felt the stress of traveling dissipate slowly. Finally he turned around and brought his own arms around Regis' neck.

”So, bath?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow. Regis gave him a fanged grin, and suddenly the bond was alight inside his head.

Geralt drew in a slow breath. It kept taking him by surprise when Regis pulled out all the stops and let everything he felt bleed through. Usually the bond was a steady hum at the back of his mind; a comforting presence and an infallible tether at the same time. And then Regis took control of it, and it left Geralt's head spinning and knees weak.

Geralt managed to extract himself to go ask for hot water and to smuggle a bottle of red wine from the bartender. The man winked at him and refused payment, only demanding a Gwent rematch sometime later. Geralt promised him as much. It felt weird but nice to be among people who knew him and treated him kindly.

Dandelion and Priscilla had returned as well, but Geralt saw them engaged in a loud argument with a woman carrying a lute, and decided against going to greet them. They would see each other later. The bartender had told they served supper to customers at eight, and Geralt felt hunger tug at his stomach at the thought of real, hot food.

The feeling was forgotten when he re-entered their room. He could smell hot water and some mild soap and oil, but his eyes were immediately drawn to Regis. The vampire was just pulling his shirt over his head, and once he wriggled free of the garment, his eyes flashed to Geralt and he grinned again.

”There you are,” he murmured as he crossed the room. Geralt had just enough presence of mind to kick the door closed and deposit the wine bottle on a dresser before Regis crowded him against the door and kissed him. It was languid, almost lazy. Cool hands buried themselves into Geralt's hair, smoothing out tangles as his whole body pressed against the witcher's. Geralt licked at the seam of his lips and they opened, and the kiss turned heated.

Finally Regis pulled back. His black eyes looked him over hungrily.

”Come with me,” he whispered and took Geralt by the hand. He stopped at the foot of the bed and started to strip away Geralt's armor. His fingers worked with practiced ease and still managed to be teasing. Geralt suppressed a shiver as the leather and maille came off and his sweat had a chance to cool. Regis ran his fingers up his stomach as he stripped off his undershirt, and Geralt groaned. He was fully hard by the time his smallclothes were pulled off.

Regis took a step back and looked him over. His eyes had the kind of shine Geralt knew preceded them turning entirely black. Geralt should have felt exposed, standing naked in the middle of the room like that, but he didn't. The bond was singing with lust and love, and he could only bask in the feeling.

Suddenly Regis misted his way out of his clothes and materialized behind him. His hands came to rest lightly on Geralt's hips.

”The bath, if you will,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over Geralt's neck.

The tub had been filled with hot water. The staff had provided some buckets of cooler water as well, and Regis dipped a washcloth into one of them. He brought it down Geralt's back, gently scrubbing away the worst of the dust and sweat. When he moved on to the front, Geralt felt his hips twitch. Regis laughed.

”Patience, love,” he hummed as he worked, his free hand stroking teasingly. Geralt swallowed thickly.

When Regis finally finished, he gave Geralt a small push.

”In you go,” he said as he proceeded to scrub himself methodically.

Geralt sunk into the tub and let out a satisfied sigh. The water was just hot enough to feel amazing. His knotted muscles started to unwind on their own accord.

Regis was looking at him closely as he tossed the washcloth into the bucket. The tub wasn't made for two adults, but before Geralt could come up with anything, Regis slipped in and straddled him. His cock brushed against Geralt's, whose hips bucked upwards. Regis smiled breathlessly as he came to rest against him, their bodies pressed flush together.

”Yes, entirely worth the wait,” he muttered before seizing Geralt's lips into a heated kiss. His hands came to grip the witcher's hair, drawing a breathy moan from him.

Geralt brought his own hands to Regis' back, kneading down on the muscles and sliding them all the way down to his ass. He ground his cock against Regis', who made a strangled sound and then gave him as good as he got.

”Been a while since we could be sure no one disturbs us,” Geralt whispered into his ear. “I'd love to have you fuck me into that mattress,” he continued. Regis actually growled at that, low inside his chest, and it set Geralt's mind on fire. His hands swept upwards and buried themselves into the black hair just as he felt Regis shift.

Somehow the bond had made everything easier. It smoothed out the hard edges whenever needed, but those occasions were becoming less and less frequent as they felt things settle and they found their footing around each other.

Regis had been sticking to his human disguise for so long it was a second nature to him to keep it up at all times, but in moments of heat and intimacy he sometimes slipped. At first, he had been alarmed and pulled back, but little by little, at Geralt's insistence, he had allowed himself to relax his hold over it.

Geralt loved it. He had no other words for it. Seeing Regis' ears grow pointed and his skin flush with its natural color made Geralt feel overwhelmed in all the good ways. He knew Regis was trusting him with parts of himself he had not been able to show for a very long time.

Regis nosed at Geralt's collarbone and let out a hot breath. Geralt ran his finger delicately along the point of his ear, drawing a full-body shudder from his lover. When Regis looked at him, his eyes had gone black and wild.

They barely made it to the bed before Regis' fingers were pushing into Geralt. Geralt had allowed himself to be manhandled on to the soft mattress, and was then satisfied to just hold on for dear life as Regis fucked him with his nimble fingers and left a path of lovebites on his chest and stomach. He was hard and leaking, and when Regis finally pushed into him, he gave a low, broken moan. It felt so good to do this without having to worry about someone overhearing. To have Regis deep inside him, moving slowly, and kissing the last bits of breath out of his lungs.

Geralt let the control slip away from him, and the bond hummed, saturated with feelings and sensations. Regis took hold of his cock and stroked him, his own movements growing a touch more desperate. Geralt met him thrust for thrust, and then he felt Regis come, his cock pulsing and another growl forcing itself out of his mouth.

Geralt was so close, and he was surprised to see Regis pull out immediately. The vampire flashed him a sharp smile and bent down. He took him in his mouth, and Geralt's back arched off the bed when Regis started to suck him off. He lasted maybe a handful of seconds before his own release forced itself out of him, his hips jerking and Regis staring up at him in wonder with his gorgeous, all-black eyes.

Afterwards they laid tangled together. Geralt watched how Regis' human form washed over him bit by bit as his breathing slowed down and he rested his head against Geralt's chest. It was almost hypnotic.

”That never gets old,” Geralt said quietly.

Regis glanced up, his mouth quirking up. “What, me tossing you about and then taking you enthusiastically?” he asked as he stroked Geralt's side.

The witcher snorted. “That too, but I meant seeing you like that,” he answered. The bond rippled, a familiar worry coming and then going as soon as it registered. Regis turned to look at him. His eyes were finally back to normal.

”I still find it hard to believe you're not alarmed-” he begun, but Geralt cut in.

”By you? Never,” he said, bringing his hand to Regis' hair. “It's you, the real you. I've seen you before, and I'd like to see you in the future.”

Regis looked back at him and smiled, his eyes crinkling. “You are so very dear to me, Geralt. Never forget it.”

 

 

**II  
**

 

Geralt had been right. The first family – a poor one from the Farcorners, a mother and four little ones, minus the missing one – was initially very suspicious of the witcher. However, as soon as Regis stepped in, told he was Geralt's associate and asked the mother about the missing child, she opened up. Her eyes had swept over his face, found his smile, and that had been enough.

Regis caught the knowing look in Geralt's eye and suppressed a smile. He knew his disguise of an elderly barber-surgeon worked well, but moments like this emphasized the fact.

The mother had taken them inside their small hut and made them herbal tea, even apologized for her distrust, and then told them how her youngest, a girl of six, had vanished without a trace three nights past.

Regis offered his condolences and let Geralt ask the important questions. The mother became teary and told them her daughter Fiona had been playing outside the hut just before dinnertime. When the mother had gone to call her back inside, she had been gone. They had not managed to find a trace.

Geralt looked sympathetic. He offered the woman no false hopes, but promised he would try to look for the girl. The woman nodded, clearly under no illusions about what happened to kids who went missing in Novigrad, but still thankful that someone was taking an interest.

Regis stepped out from the small house and looked at Geralt. The witcher was looking around and clearly deep in thought. Regis settled further away and gave him space to work. Geralt walked around the house, crouching down on the spot where the girl had been last seen, then followed some invisible tracks a while and came back. He sniffed at the soil and then stood stock-still for a long while.

”Nothing specific,” he muttered when he finally seemed to snap out of his reverie and joined Regis. “The family is poor, but not that poor. The mother would have never sold her own daughter. She had been making her a new dress.”

Regis looked at Geralt in question, and the witcher smiled thinly.

”She had needle marks on her fingers and some thread on her sleeves. Red, which is traditionally a small girl's color around here,” he explained.

”So the girl has been abducted, but we are no closer to knowing who took her?”

Geralt nodded. “We should split up. I'll go deal with the rich families, you take the poor ones. The well-off know more about witchers and respect the fact that I'm working, even if they're rude as hell,” he said. Regis considered the proposal and saw the sense in it.

”It's a good plan. I will meet you back at the cabaret when I'm done.”

Geralt gave him a small smile and strode off. Regis sighed and set out towards the next house struck by this bad luck.

***

Geralt was back much earlier than he was. Regis had been unable not to offer his help to the families he visited, and had ended up treating some minor ailments along the way. Nevertheless, he had managed to extract enough information to satisfy the witcher. They sat down to eat supper and compare their information.

”You first,” Geralt said as he ate the stew. “I have less stuff anyway.” Regis cleared his throat and took a sip of wine.

”The four families I visited were not the poorest ones I have seen, but all were struggling to get by. However, none of the parents struck me as people who would willingly part with their children. In fact, all of them were very distraught and begged me to find out what had happened to their daughters,” Regis told him. Geralt looked puzzled.

”All the missing kids were girls?”

”Yes. All between five and ten years of age, and well-loved by everything I gathered.”

Geralt frowned. “All three I investigated were girls, as well,” he muttered.

”There's a connection, then,” Regis said. He felt a sense of foreboding, although he couldn't put his finger on it more accurately yet.

”So someone is stealing young girls, and managing to do it without leaving much of a trace,” Geralt sighed. “Any lore or theories that match up with that?”

Regis shrugged. “None that immediately come to mind, but I will consult the library on the morrow. The fact that they are all prepubescent and female tells me only the abductor has a specific group of targets.”

They ate in silence. The mood had sobered considerably from yesterday, but still Regis was glad they were in this together. The task was starting to feel overwhelming, but his gut told him he shouldn't worry too much.

Suddenly Geralt set down his spoon and looked up.

”The families you went to see, were they all human?” he asked. Regis frowned, thinking back.

”Yes, I should think so.”

Geralt looked glum. “So were mine. Not a drop of nonhuman blood in any of them, as far as I could tell.”

They fell silent again, until Regis spoke up slowly. “You are thinking there might be something sinister going on.”

Geralt made a vague gesture, spooning up the rest of his stew. “Might be. Someone could be trying to make nonhumans seem like the culprits. Hell, it could be nonhumans, they certainly have enough reasons to hate humans,” he said in a low voice while he idly watched Dandelion prance around the tavern. “What I don't get is the fact that there is no apparent connection between the families. There are two merchants, a smith, a midwife... And then the rich ones are scholars, spice dealers, and very minor nobles.”

Regis hummed. A thought had occurred to him, but he was uncertain about voicing it. Geralt turned to look at him when he sensed his hesitation.

”Regis, I know you're thinking of something. I can feel it. You can tell me,” he said. His voice was gentle. Regis smiled, unable to help himself.

”Not here. Let's go to our room,” he whispered. Geralt looked curious, but a while later he followed Regis up the stairs.

”So, tell me,” the witcher said when he had closed the door and sat down on the couch next to Regis. “It's clearly something you're conflicted about, but I can't decipher why.”

Regis nodded.

”I was thinking... We have access to someone who is very skilled at tracking and is able to move through the streets unnoticed. Someone who would be willing to help us.”

Comprehension dawned in Geralt's golden eyes. “You're thinking of summoning Dettlaff here,” he said quietly.

”Dettlaff, for all his professed dislike of humans, is extremely capable of gathering information and moving about undetected. He could be of tremendous help, as I see it,” Regis explained.

He couldn't tell why he was so wary of voicing his suggestion. There was something that was not sitting right in his gut, had been for a long while now. Geralt had promised he would act civil when he was around Dettlaff. And Dettlaff considered Geralt a part of his pack, so it couldn't be that Regis was worried they might fight. It was something deeper, like a misplaced puzzle piece inside his core. It was linked to both of them.

”If you think it's a good idea, why not. As long as he knows he can say no,” Geralt suddenly blurted out. The witcher looked momentarily confused. “I mean, he went through a lot in Beauclair. I don't wanna throw him in the middle of an equally big mess here.”

Regis pushed away his discomfort and smiled. He let his hand come to rest against Geralt's chest.

”Dettlaff is very capable of standing up for himself. He respects you, but he will not put himself into a compromising situation again. I know he has learned a lesson from what transpired in Toussaint.”

Geralt pursed his lips and nodded. He thought about something for a moment and then started looking curious.

”How does your bond with him work, anyway? Is it something like ours?” he asked. Regis shook his head and tried to come up with an explanation.

”It's very different. We have no such link to each other's emotions as I do with you,” Regis started explaining, trying to find words in human language to describe what was very essentially a vampire thing _and_ something that was new to him as well. “I can sense his moods, but not his emotions, if that makes it any clearer,” he continued. “I also know where he is, provided we are not very far apart from each other. And in moments of extreme distress, I'll know he needs help, and I instinctively know how to help him,” he added.

Geralt looked thoughtful. “He said I'm his pack, too,” the witcher said in a low voice. “If I accepted the pack bond with him, would I have that kind of a connection to him as well?”

Regis stroked his chin. He hated admitting he didn't know something. He always had.

”I don't know, I'm sorry. You're in every way unique, as far as I know,” he said apologetically. “I have no idea whether your witcher mutations make you physically enough like us to initiate a pack bond as well as the one we share.”

Geralt shrugged. “I was just curious,” he muttered. Regis sensed it.

”You are considering saying yes,” he said.

Geralt stiffened momentarily, until he exhaled. He still looked troubled.

”Yeah, and I don't know _why_ , and it's annoying. I have this feeling I can trust Dettlaff, even when my common sense tells me not to,” he explained haltingly. Regis brought his arm around Geralt's shoulders.

”You're likely being influenced by my bond with Dettlaff. I know in my very bones I can trust him. Because you're my mate, you know he would never hurt you, but some part of that is coming from me, I suspect,” he said. Geralt looked at him, his cat eyes puzzled. Regis sighed and pressed a kiss to his temple.

”I'm sorry, I know it's confusing. Vampiric social rules differ greatly from those of humans. We do not kill each other, and one's pack is sacred. Hurting a pack member, let alone someone who is mated to another one of your own pack, is simply not done. Ever.”

”That's why Dettlaff was so worried when he came back,” Geralt said, finally understanding what had happened a few months ago when Dettlaff had finally returned.

Regis hummed in affirmation. “He thought he had harmed you by placing you in the situation where you had to take the blame for his crimes. He hasn't forgiven himself for that.”

Geralt shrugged. He was looking at the carpet, but clearly not seeing it.

”I don't see it that way,” he muttered.

Regis gave him a smile. “I know. And deep inside Dettlaff knows it, too. He simply has a hard time accepting he might be deserving of meaningful relationships after what happened with Syanna. He has grown careful in trying to protect his heart.”

Geralt looked like he was in some sort of vague pain.

”It was not his fault. I don't hold it against him,” he said, and there was a faint distress lacing his words. Regis could tell Geralt was living through some memory of his own. It was clearly something that resonated with what had happened to Dettlaff, and it was making him anxious. Regis pulled the witcher closer and stroked his hair. He pushed the bond, making it hum with calming energy. Little by little Geralt relaxed, until finally he rested his head against Regis' shoulder.

”I'm an idiot,” the witcher muttered. Regis frowned.

”Whatever would make you say that?” he asked in rebuke.

Geralt gave a laugh. “Are all vampire bonds made like this? You just...suddenly realize you have accepted them into your life, and that it's happened long before your brain catches up?”

Regis stiffened.

”Do you regret it?” he forced himself to ask. Geralt pulled back, and suddenly he was kissing Regis hard. The bond was warm and safe, not a hint of fear staining it. When he pulled back, Regis felt his lips tingle.

”Never. Not a moment. And that was not what I meant,” Geralt said forcefully. Regis nodded, still a bit stunned by the kiss.

”Often one makes up their mind before the conscious parts catch up,” he offered, allowing his hands to slowly sweep up and down Geralt's chest. “It's the same with vampires as it is with humans, as far as I know. Alas, bonding is a private topic in our culture, so I am not an ultimate authority on the issue. But I do know higher vampires a prone to deep introspection, which might clue them in on their choices.”

Geralt sighed again. “I'm gonna say yes. I know he's important to you, and some part of my mind knows he's alright, so why the hell not?”

Regis stroked his hair some more and tried to wrap his head around the way Geralt's mind worked. It was mind-blowing to hear the witcher trusted him that deeply; that he would be willing to accept another higher vampire into his life as a friend only because Regis trusted the said person.

”I would say you're free to do as you wish, but you know that already, my dear,” he merely offered. “Your capacity to trust me is overwhelming at times.”

Geralt laughed. “We already established I was given some vampire mutagens, right? I've read enough books to know sometimes genes become active when there is a factor in the environment that triggers them.”

Regis examined the idea and didn't find it as implausible as he would have thought.

”It's a good theory. I would be the trigger, then?” he murmured. He saw Geralt smile.

”Yeah. And maybe I'm simply becoming more like you to adapt to circumstances. As I told you, the basic mutations most likely included something, and I received several experimental ones to boot.”

Regis hummed, but suddenly he felt conflicted. Geralt was relaxed and the bond was calm, but something was not right.

It took him a long while to dissect the feeling. Finally, a memory surfaced. It was of Geralt and his first male partner, another witcher by the name of Hazair Tahraren.

When Geralt and Regis had been reunited and their mating bond had flared up, Geralt had shown Regis his past by allowing him into his memories. Hazair had been at the forefront of many of them, teaching the younger witcher everything from fighting to sex, and essentially saving Geralt from himself.

The memory in question was very intimate, even more so because it was the only time Regis had witnessed Geralt using the safeword 'dahlia' to stop sex altogether. In the memory, younger Geralt had been overwhelmed by something, but had deflected everything when Hazair had tried to question him. Regis had the advantage of having access to his feelings of the situation, and now he finally knew what had been so uncomfortable about the whole thing.

”They never asked whether you wanted to take the extra mutagens, did they?”

Geralt stiffened. Then he pulled away and stood up, walking to the window. His hands were folded, and the bond all but closed off. It was all the confirmation Regis needed.

”It doesn't matter,” Geralt grunted. “It's not like they harmed me.”

”But they didn't ask.”

Geralt's shoulders climbed higher, and Regis felt a stab of guilt for dragging the topic up. It was too late to turn back, however.

”They made you go through the Trial of the Grasses, made you watch your friends die, and then they dragged you off to have some more because you were stronger than the others?” Regis hissed. All of a sudden, he was full of anger, boiling over with hatred for every one of the masters in Kaer Morhen.

Geralt turned around. His eyes were ablaze and he was clenching his fists so hard Regis could smell blood welling up beneath his nails.

”So what? I could take it, so why shouldn't I? It's not like I would've lived through all the crap I have without them strapping me on to Sad Albert for a second round of the shit,” Geralt spat out. He was shaking.

Regis had no clue what Sad Albert was, but the name carried such weight through the bond he shivered nonetheless. Geralt anger was searing through his mind and leaving him empty. He wanted to argue, tell his lover the masters had been wrong. Anything to make him see how damn unfair it was.

Because Regis could taste Geralt's hurt. After all the years, it was still there. Dulled by time and understanding, but ultimately unhealed. Hazair had dug it up by caring for Geralt, but he had not been able to soothe it beyond temporary measures. Regis had thought he had been doing everything he could, but suddenly he was struck by the knowledge that he didn't have a clue how to truly heal Geralt.

The witcher had been made an outsider even among his own brothers, and he had ingrained the belief of it into his psyche. The certainty made Regis stiffen, and he saw Geralt gear up for a fight in response. The bond delivered a memory of violet, furious eyes, and Regis knew the anger was dragging out residual fury that had little to do with the situation at hand.

The fact that Geralt somehow associated Regis' anger with Yennefer made him draw in breath. His gut felt tight and inflamed. It was unfair, and yet very reasonable. When Regis realized this, he released the breath he had been saving for the argument.

Suddenly, Regis felt all the anger slip out of him like water from a broken jar. He was unaware of having stood up, but now he was standing in front of Geralt, and his shoulders were slumping without any initiative of his own.

It was confusing, but at the heels of the feeling came an instinct that told him to let the fire go. Regis closed his eyes and allowed the foreign, sad, soothing calm wash over him. He opened his eyes, and saw Geralt looking at him with wide, confused eyes. He was still angry, but Regis' feelings had washed over the bond and the witcher's fire was dampening. Regis stood still and let his shoulders drop. Everything in him signaled no will whatsoever to fight, and Geralt seemed to understand that.

When Regis reached for Geralt, the witcher allowed him to pull him into a hug. There were no words offered, only the bond resonating with heavy and somehow covert emotions.

Much later, when Geralt was asleep and making his customary soft dreaming noises against Regis' neck, did he know what it had been all about. The words of his own mentor came back to him, dulled by time. They had been said just after the Conjunction, when everything about the new world had been bright and painful and strange.

“ _The pack bond makes you know how to help you mates. Higher vampires have complex inner lives and fiery emotions, and ultimately that is the reason we form packs. Our mates – be they for love or for friendship – always know how to soothe them. A vampire without a pack is dangerous, yes, but still fundamentally weak; for they don't know someone has their back, knows them inside out, and is ready to walk through hell to save them. That certainty is what brings out the best in our people.”_

***

The next morning Geralt seemed determined to ignore the argument. His jaw was set as he sipped at his tea, and Regis decided to let the matter rest for now. He himself was feeling confused. Experiencing such a strong and purely instinctual reaction was new to Regis. He had always thought his overactive brain made such responses impossible outside life and death situations.

”I should go see Bedlam today.” Geralt's voice broke through Regis' reverie. The witcher was gazing into the distance and not looking terribly enthusiastic about the task.

”Who is Bedlam?” Regis asked, turning to watch him. Geralt glanced at Regis and finished his tea.

”Francis Bedlam, the King of Beggars. He's one of the criminal bosses of Novigrad.”

Regis nodded. Geralt made an amused sound.

”Actually, I'm kind of curious to see how they're doing. There used to be four guys running the city, but I killed two of them when I was looking for Ciri.”

”Who were these people?” Regis asked. He was glad to hear Geralt's voice was back to normal, and that he was not ignoring Regis.

”The Big Four, they called themselves. There's Bedlam, he runs a network of beggars who keep a lookout for him. He was helping Triss Merigold when I came to Novigrad. The other surviving guy is named Cleaver, a dwarf who called me 'Geriatric' and has the shortest temper I've ever seen.” Geralt paused and turned to look at Regis properly, giving him a wry smile before dropping his voice to a whisper. “I killed Whoreson Junior, alias Cyprian Wiley, but that's hush hush. Dudu's impersonating him, and doing some good while he's at it. He's officially out of the game as far as the criminal circles are concerned.”

Geralt's voice rose again to a normal volume. “Whoreson was the reason Dandelion ended up in prison, actually.”

Regis laughed. “He's told the story so many times, and each time he saves the day more and more spectacularly.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. “He conveniently forgets to mention how they threw him over a horse like a yowling maiden when they made a break for it.” Regis laughed, covering his mouth with his hand to hide his fangs. Geralt's eyes followed the movement and his smile turned a touch softer.

”The last one you might know of. He went by Count Sigi Reuven, but the real name was none other than Sigismund Dijkstra,” the witcher said. He looked solemn before continuing. “I never trusted Dijkstra, but when he ordered Roche, Ves and Thaler killed and told me to walk away, even I thought I had heard him wrong.”

Regis frowned and brushed his fingers against Geralt hand. “This was right after lady Philippa Eilhart had foiled your plans to assassinate king Radovid?” he asked quietly. Geralt nodded.

”Well, the asshole died, so she only robbed Roche of the pleasure. Anyway, right after that we met at the abandoned theater and Dijkstra told us there would be no deal with Nilfgaard, and that he wanted to rule Temeria. And it's not like I could've walked away. Roche and Ves are my friends. They came to Kaer Morhen.” When Geralt finished, he looked glum.

Regis sighed. “You did what you had to. What I'm gathering from this is that the underworld must have gone through a big upheaval in the past year?”

”Yeah. So I need to get a feel of it to know who's gonna be useful or willing to help us,” Geralt said as he stood up. Regis got to his feet as well.

”Do you wish to go alone?” he asked.

Geralt bit his lip as he thought. Regis gave him space and looked around the cabaret. Zoltan was arguing with Dandelion about something regarding the performances. Priscilla was chatting with the bar hand. When she caught Regis' eye, she nodded towards Dandelion and rolled her eyes, grinning. Regis gave her an amused smile.

”It depends,” Geralt finally said. He leaned on the table and pushed his hands into his pockets. His brow was furrowed as he looked at Regis.

Regis cocked his head. “On what?”

Geralt pushed away and came to stand very close. Regis resisted leaning into him.

”Bedlam has undoubtedly gotten careful after Sigi Reuven and Whoreson disappeared. I bet he knows I had a hand in it. The question is whether he thinks I'm a threat or not. I'm not afraid to go alone, but Bedlam's a clever fucker,” Geralt said. He looked conflicted, and the bond felt jumpy. Regis looked into the golden eyes, frowning.

Something was upsetting Geralt, and...it was something he himself was doing? Suddenly Regis understood.

”You're being considerate,” he breathed. It was such a surprise Regis knew his astonishment must have been easy to hear.

True enough, Geralt's face turned sheepish and he looked away. “I know it could be dangerous, and I can't lie to you, not with the bond. Were it the other way around, I'd refuse to let you go alone. So...yeah? I'm trying.”

Regis leaned in to Geralt's space then, just enough to mutter under his breath: “I want to kiss you,” before drawing back and smiling, his fangs flashing for a second. “I will accompany you. Not because I don't trust you, but because I think you might need my help.”

Geralt blinked twice before he grinned, looking both embarrassed and delighted.

***

Locating the King of Beggars turned out to be trickier than either of them had anticipated. Geralt led Regis into the delightfully named Putrid Grove, or what had been the place. It turned out the Nilfgaardian rule had made the former refuge of mages and nonhumans obsolete. Geralt stood and stared at the place for a long while before sighing and turning heel.

”We gotta try it the old-fashioned way,” he grumbled as he walked towards the Harborside. Regis didn't bother ask what the witcher meant, merely jogged after him.

After spending half the day interrogating beggars milling about the harbor, even Regis was starting to feel exasperated. He could tell several of them showed signs of recognition when the witcher approached them, but not one would say a thing. No amount of bribery or threats seemed to work.

By noon, Regis was certain Francis Bedlam didn't wish to be found, and had made it extremely clear to his subordinates. Geralt was apparently arriving to the same conclusion. Regis could tell the witcher was getting hungry, so he suggested getting lunch and coming up with a new plan. Geralt nodded, clearly not in the mood to talk.

The Golden Sturgeon was full, but Regis spotted a table downstairs and went to reserve it when Geralt fetched the food. When he returned, he brought two bowls of fish soup and some stale bread. He sat down heavily and begun to eat in sullen silence. Regis sniffed the soup and decided the fish had been fresh enough to be safe to eat.

”Seems like it's just as I feared. Bedlam knows I did away Reuven, and now he thinks I'm coming for his arse next,” Geralt muttered between bites of bread. “This way is gonna take forever. Maybe I should just forget it and we can try to convince Dettlaff to come and help.”

”You get to decide that,” Regis reminded him. Geralt nodded darkly and spooned up some more of his soup. Regis looked around. The downstairs was filled with sailors and dockhands, some simply having a hasty lunch, some already well into their cups. It was noisy and crowded, but not unpleasant.

Geralt cleared his throat. Regis turned his head back towards him.

”Would he mind?” Geralt asked quietly. “We haven't seem him in months. Do you even know where he is?”

Regis nodded. He swallowed his mouthful of soup and bread. “The last time we met, he told me he was going to go back to Nazair. I can get a word to him, and he can be here in less than a week.” Regis paused and considered this, feeling for the sense that told him the phases of the moon. “Actually, a bit faster. Full moon is only two nights away,” he smiled.

Geralt snorted and smiled back at him. “Your people and the moon, right.” The witcher returned to his meal, clearly considering. “Fine. Call him, but tell him he is not obligated to come. And tell him it could be dangerous,” he finally said. Regis nodded.

They finished their meal and left the noisy tavern. Sun had been covered up by dark, stormy-looking clouds while they had been inside, and the day had become dark and brooding. Regis directed them to stand in an alley, away from the nearest gaggle of strumpets. He closed his eyes, calling for his ravens. Soon enough, one flew down from the rooftop and perched on Geralt's shoulder. The witcher looked at it in question before turning his eyes to Regis. The vampire flashed him a grin before closing his eyes again.

When Regis was done, the raven cawed softly before taking wing and departing. Geralt chuckled as he followed its flight. Regis smelled rain, and knew this would be no warm Toussaint storm. He wasn't bothered by rain or cold, but he knew Geralt disliked them. Not badly enough to abandon their search, but perhaps Regis could direct them to do something useful _and_ wait out the impending rain?

”What do you say going to the Hierarch Square bookstore? You can come up with a follow-up plan and I can check some facts about the lore I mentioned?” Regis suggested. Geralt shrugged, clearly again deep in thought.

They turned to exit the alleyway and return to the main street, but found the way blocked. Regis was suddenly feeling uneasy. There were only three men, but one of them was unarmed and standing a step behind the other two. His face was covered, and his eyes were flickering between Regis and Geralt. Regis knew right away he was the most dangerous one of the three, maybe a magic user.

The taller of the two men took a step forward. He was carrying a heavy mace and looked at Geralt with wary eyes.

”Geralt of Rivia?” he asked in a gruff voice.

”Who else?” Geralt answered. He took a step forward, coming to stand just a bit in front of Regis. Anybody else would have taken the gesture for protection, but Regis knew better. The bond was singing with satisfaction, and the vampire could tell that these were Bedlam's men. Geralt was also warning him to stand down, to conceal his true nature for the time being.

The tall man narrowed his eyes. “You been askin' 'bout the king. Why's that?” He hefted the mace in his hands.

Geralt stood his ground and crossed his arms. “I have some questions to Bedlam.”

The man snorted. “So do the Nilfgaardian whoresons. The word’s you've been workin' for the emperor,” he spat.

Geralt's face turned dark. “Not working for them, not in the way you think. I'm tracking the lost kids. Bedlam must know girls are going missing in Novigrad,” he answered.

The man shrugged. “What's it to Bedlam?” he asked.

”I need information. I'm willing to pay for it, if you take me to see him” Geralt said.

”I think the fuck not. Bedlam knows you snuffed Sigi Reuven. You think the king's so stupid as to risk choking on that sword too?” the man growled.

Geralt heaved an annoyed sigh. “Whatever. You can tell Bedlam I'm willing to talk if he dares to meet me. I'll come without my swords and alone, if that's what he wants.”

Regis twitched at that. Geralt seemingly ignored him, but the bond pulsed calmingly.

”Not makin' any promises,” the big man answered. “You were seen at the Nilfgaardians' building when you arrived. You're in league with the invaders.”

Geralt barked a laugh. “Invaders?” he asked incredulously. “Yeah, they threw out the Redanian soldiers and the witch hunters. Hierarch Hemmelfart is waiting for a trial, which is more than he gave to nonhumans and mages. Your silent partner back there must be devastated the Holy Fire maniacs are gone.”

The masked man looked at Geralt. The witcher met the hollow stare with narrowed eyes. “I think Bedlam's sore because the Nilfgaardians are actually doing some good now that the war's over. Less dirt poor folks means less power for him, right?” he continued.

Regis suppressed a sigh at that. Geralt's unfortunately short temper remained unchanged, and Regis was silently preparing for a fight.

The big man was grinding his teeth and lifting the mace, when the masked mage cleared his throat. The two men turned to look at him. It was clear who was the leader of their troupe.

”I will make sure the King hears your words,” the man told Geralt. His voice was smooth and unaffected. “I advice you to keep your nose out of business that's no concern of yours,” he added before turning and simply walking away. His burly companions flashed victorious smiles to Geralt before rushing to join him.

Regis looked at Geralt. The witcher was looking puzzled and a tiny bit worried. Then his eyes snapped to Regis.

”You make any sense of that?” he asked.

Regis sighed. “The masked man is some sort of magic user, but I couldn't tell if he's fully human.”

Geralt shook his head, his expression torn between grim and vexed. “Same here. Here's hoping he actually delivers the message.”

”And that they don't come for you with swords in hands” Regis added, just as the rain started to fall.

***

They made it to Books and Scrolls, but not before they were both soaked. The shopkeeper, a man by the name of Marcus Hodgson, eyed them with barely-concealed disgust until he spotted Geralt's bright white hair, after which he greeted them almost politely and proceeded to hover over Regis' shoulder to safeguard the books from dripping water.

An hour later Regis and Geralt exited the bookshop and headed towards Gildorf. Novigrad's only decent library was located right next to the Passiflora, as Geralt pointed out with some remainder of good humor.

Regis dove into some more dusty tomes, but none yielded anything substantial. Just page after page of lore about young girls going missing. Apparently prepubescent girls were often used for spell work of the nefarious sort.

At eight o'clock the librarian shooed them outside. Geralt rubbed his eyes as they stepped outside into cold and moist air. The sky was still overcast and dark, but the rain had stopped.

”Well, that was of no use whatsoever,” Regis grumbled as they started back towards The Chameleon. “The city library is so disorderly it's no wonder I didn't manage to find anything useful.”

Geralt chuckled. “I've actually never seen you annoyed like this,” he pointed out, unhelpfully.

Regis huffed an affronted sigh. “Pah. I am merely displeased with the chaotic library and that vapid librarian who staunchly refused to be of any help,” he said in a dignified manner.

Geralt sniggered. “As I said. Annoyed.”

Regis felt a reluctant smile tug at his lips, but he hid it by looking around. The street was glistening in the light of the oil lamps hanging overhead. Here and there were people walking briskly, all of them clearly in a hurry to get indoors lest the rain start falling again.

Regis drew in a deep breath and cracked his neck. He was feeling stiff after spending almost whole day hunched over old books.

Gildorf Square was well-lit, but the stairs that they took down to the Bits were dark, as was the poor district. Neither of them were troubled by the lack of light of course, but Regis could see why no one seemed to take this route after dark. It was a shame, he thought, that such a big part of the city should remain in disrepair and house the poor people. Segregating the less-fortunate into their own neighborhoods kept them poor and the rich unaware of the injustices.

Regis was pulled back from his thoughts by a distant noise. He stopped and brought his hand to Geralt's arm to still him, too.

Geralt turned to look at him. “What?”

Regis shook his head, straining his hearing.

There it was. A faint sound of muffled sobs, so quiet even he might have missed it. The sound was frantic, as if someone was in grave distress.

”Somebody needs help,” Regis hissed to Geralt. He turned into mist and flew towards the sound. He was distantly aware of Geralt's angry hiss of _“wait, dammit”_ as the witcher scrambled to keep up.

Regis flew through the square at the foot of the stairs and turned left. The sound was clearer now. Just as he materialized between two shabby houses, he saw a dark shape run towards the sound further down the alley. Regis cursed and cast a glance behind him, seeing Geralt had almost caught up with him.

The witcher slid to a stop next to him, glaring daggers at him.

”We talked about this!” he growled, unsheathing his steel sword as they continued running towards the alley where the dark shape had vanished. Suddenly the dark was pierced by a scream and then a yell.

”No! Don't do that! No!” a woman yelled not far ahead.

”Fuck, I know that voice,” the witcher hissed.

They tore into the alleyway. A woman was leaning to a wall, clutching at her bleeding arm and shaking violently. Regis had just enough time to see a weird flash of dark-colored magic. He thought he could make out a shape in the midst of it, but it was gone when he blinked. Then there was only the dirty dead end, with a house on one side and steep cliff on the other.

Geralt approached the woman.

”Hey, you okay?” he asked. Suddenly, the woman wheeled around and swung a sword towards Geralt. The witcher parried easily and then moved like a panther, pinning the woman to the stone wall and wrenching the blade from her grip. She screamed, her voice growing hoarse.

”Damn it, Rosa, it's me! Geralt!” the witcher growled, holding her firmly in place.

The woman stopped screaming and blinked rapidly. Then she drew in a shuddering breath.

”Geralt? What-?”

”Don't try to hit me again,” Geralt warned her as he let her go. The woman rubbed her wrists as Geralt stepped back. She had very light blonde hair, which was currently escaping a long plait. Her clothes were simple, but upon closer inspection Regis saw they were very good quality.

”I need to look at that wound,” he said to the woman, Rosa, when she seemed to have calmed down. She flinched away, but Geralt put a steadying hand on her shoulder.

”Regis is a friend. He's a surgeon,” he said gently. Rosa looked at Regis, who held her gaze. Finally, she nodded.

”Go on then. It's not deep, but papa will be cross if it scars,” she said, not sounding like she cared one bit. Regis stepped closer and peeled back the torn sleeve. Rosa had been right. The gash was long but shallow, bleeding lazily. Regis reached into his satchel and picked up a wad of cotton. He handed it to the woman.

”Press that to the wound. I can bandage you up when we get you home.” Rosa merely nodded. Regis was curious to see she was not shaking like a normal person would be, when faced with such an alarm.

Geralt was scowling. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked Rosa, who avoided his gaze and was suddenly keenly interested in her wound.

”None of your business.”

”It becomes my business when you get attacked in front of me!” Geralt countered, growing more and more irritated. Regis could tell the two shared some sort of a history. The woman was clearly nobly born, and Nilfgaardian to boot. Her accent was not very strong, but distinguishable when she got agitated.

Rosa looked at the witcher, her eyes furious. “The girl was in trouble! Of course I was going to help her!”

Geralt looked at her. “What girl?” he asked.

Rosa gestured towards the spot where they had seen the flash of magic. “I saw a dark shape dragging a young girl into this alleyway when I was on my way to- Ugh, never mind that. I heard the girl cry and beg, she was only a tiny kid, and I had no time to call for guards!”

Geralt was suddenly very still. Regis looked at him and then cast his eyes to Rosa.

”Rosa, did you get a look at the person who was taking the girl?” he asked quietly. “Where they were coming from, anything at all?”

The woman undoubtedly heard the change in his tone, because she stopped frowning and turned to look at Regis.

”I don't know if it was a man or a woman, but they smelled like something that had been left to rot in a damp cave,” she told them, her voice firm and suspicious. “They kept telling the girl to be silent, that soon they would be in their true home, and that the sun would make it all better.”

Rosa drew in a breath and shuffled on her feet. She was looking a bit nauseous. “They were wearing a dark robe. There was some sort of a sun emblem on their back.” she finished.

Regis felt cold all over. The bond was eerily silent as he turned to look at Geralt. The witcher's eyes were wide and worried.

 

**III**

 

” _Fencing lessons in the Bits?! Have you gone absolutely mental Rosa?!”_

” _You wouldn't let me choose my own instructor! The ones you sent me were useless!”_

” _And sneaking out when it's dark! What if somebody had recognized you?”_

” _How could anybody, when you barely permit us to leave the damned house!”_

Geralt knew enough Nilfgaardian to be able to follow the shouting match between Rosa var Attre and her father, ambassador Henry var Attre. He had met the ambassador briefly when he had visited Vizima and started looking for Ciri. The man had struck Geralt as relatively down to earth for a Nilfgaardian nobleman of high rank, but apparently his daughter managed to get a rise out of him.

Not that Geralt could blame the man. He and Regis had escorted Rosa back to the var Attre mansion and caused quite a stir among the house guard and servants. And that had been before the captain of the guard had alerted her father. Henry var Attre had almost tripped over himself while descending the stairs when he had seen his daughter brought back bloody and tailed by a witcher.

Finally, when both Rosa and her father had shouted themselves hoarse, the ambassador allowed Regis to bandage Rosa's arm. He then sent her to her room. Rosa cast a furtive glance at Geralt, who lifted an eyebrow.

Ambassador var Attre wiped his brow and sat down, looking exhausted.

”Forgive us,” he said in Common. “It's embarrassing that you should have to witness such behavior. None the less, I find myself in your debt, master Geralt.”

Geralt shook his head. “Regis spotted her first, in fact,” he said, nodding towards the vampire. Ambassador var Attre inclined his head towards him.

”Then my thanks extend to you as well, for that and for patching her up,” he sighed. “I was unaware you were in the city, master witcher. Here on business?” he continued, gesturing them to take seats when servants brought them some food and wine.

Geralt sat down and nodded. Now that the family tiff had been solved, his mind was back on the job.

”Yes, ambassador. The emperor summoned me, in fact,” he explained. He wondered whether var Attre was important enough to know about the situation. His suspicions were confirmed right away.

”Ah. That must be the case of the missing children,” var Attre said at once. His eyes were suddenly sharp. “His Majesty has been keen to keep the unfortunate business _in petto_ , so to say. I'm glad to see he has hired a professional to investigate. There hasn't been much talk in the streets yet, but if this is allowed to continue, that will change.”

Geralt made a noncommittal sound and sipped at his wine. His mind was poring over the events. They had a definite lead now, but it was still inconclusive.

Var Attre kept scrutinizing them both. “I hope it goes without saying that I offer you any and all help I myself might be able to provide,” he said after a silence.

Geralt gave him a tight smile. “I appreciate that, ambassador. But I think we need to get going.”

Var Attre nodded and walked them to the front door. Just as Geralt and Regis were descending the steps, he suddenly called after them.

”Master Geralt, did tonight's incident with Rosa have something to do with your contract?” His voice was very silent; the man undoubtedly knew Geralt could hear him.

Geralt turned around and looked at the ambassador.

”We don't know yet, but it might be. I will come by later to talk to Rosa, if you permit,” he answered. Var Atttre nodded and closed the door.

Geralt shook his head and sighed. Regis stepped up next to him.

”We should go and take a look at the place,” Geralt muttered to him. Regis nodded, brushing his hand against him.

”Quite right,” he answered as they once again directed their steps towards the steep stairs. “Interesting man, this var Attre,” the vampire remarked once they were engulfed by darkness.

Geralt cast a glance at him. “How so?”

Regis pondered for a while. “He is extremely clever, yet he keeps his daughters on a tight leash. To me, it suggests a major personal loss, perhaps his wife. He is clearly a trusted man of the emperor, because he knew about the case. A useful ally, but he will only be that on his own terms.”

Geralt smiled at him as they turned towards the alleyway. “That's about right, as far as I know. I have nothing against him. How did you know he has two daughters?”

Regis chuckled. “I didn't even have to eavesdrop on their rather loud conversation. Rosa said something about their father not letting 'them' out of the house, which sounds like there might be a sibling who is of similar mind. I merely guessed the rest.”

Geralt laughed and shook his head. “Yeah. Rosa's got a twin sister, Edna. As difficult as she is, but in a different way.”

”What's the story between you and Rosa, then?” Regis asked, causing Geralt to frown.

”Back when I was looking for Ciri, I was tracking Dandelion here in Novigrad. He had been hired as a rhetoric teacher for the var Attre girls, but you can imagine how well that went. I met them when I lied about being Rosa's new fencing instructor,” he told Regis, who looked at him with wide eyes and then grinned.

”My, what subterfuge. So, did you end up crossing swords with the young lady?”

Geralt scoffed and then smiled wryly. “Yeah. Neither Rosa or Edna knew much about Dandelion, but Rosa roped me into giving her lessons for a few times. Long story short, she tried to run away from me, ended up face to face with some criminals, and I had to step in.” He fell silent for a moment and then continued: “She was angry I didn't kill them, simply used _a_ _xii_ and told them to get lost.”

“A sheltered, young woman, who has undoubtedly grown up hearing all the stories about wicked Nordlings,” Regis mused. “She seemed a bit...brash, if you forgive me.”

Geralt shrugged. “Her father's not doing her any favors by keeping them locked up. They're never gonna learn the common folk are not barbarians if they have no chance to meet them.”

Regis hummed as they rounded the corner and stopped. The alleyway was exactly as it had been when they had taken Rosa back home. It was dark and cold. Regis could still smell the young woman's blood on the hard-packed ground. There was also something else, much more elusive.

”May I?” he asked Geralt, who nodded and stepped back.

Regis walked towards the dead end, opening his senses wide. There was something weird, but he couldn't put his finger to it. It was like a bad taste at the back of his throat, something oily and unpleasant. He stopped at the spot where the figure had vanished. The feeling got stronger, but only for a while before it started to dissipate.

Regis crouched, but the ground was too firm to show any true tracks. He was about to get back up, when he saw a single hair on the ground. He picked it up between his index finger and thumb, examining it closely. It was light brown and curled.

”What do you have?” Geralt asked and came to stand by him. Regis straightened up and showed the hair to the witcher.

”This could be from the girl Rosa claimed to have seen.” Regis dug out an empty vial and deposited the hair there. “We need to check whether some of the missing girls have light brown and curly hair,” he added, and Geralt nodded in affirmation.

Regis cast a last glance around the place. “There is something amiss, but I don't know what. It's more like an unpleasant feeling than anything tangible.”

”I felt that too. It's gone now, though,” Geralt said, sounding puzzled. “The sun symbol Rosa mentioned bothers me. I have to ask about that. If it's the same Nilfgaardians use, Emhyr's gonna be pissed.”

Regis cleared his throat. “A sun insignia has been used by many cults and organizations. It's not necessarily what you think.”

Geralt sighed. “I know. Can't help feeling worried, though.”

They fell silent as they made the walk towards the cabaret. The rain started again just as they entered the colorful building. Priscilla rushed towards them as they closed the back door.

”Goodness! We were wondering where you disappeared,” she said, her voice customarily low and unforced. “Do you want food? I can get something sent up to your room. Dandelion booked a troupe of troubadour students for the evening, and I'm guessing you're not in the mood for the best of Oxenfurt Academy's drinking songs.”

Geralt smiled warmly. “Thanks. You're a gift from above, Priscilla.”

Regis nodded his agreement. “Not that we are not interested in local culture, my lady, but it has been a long day,” the vampire added in genial tones.

Priscilla giggled and rolled her eyes. “Up you go. We're having dinner together tomorrow at nine, just so you know. I want to spend more time with you,” she grinned as she shooed them towards the stairs.

”She really is lovely,” Regis said as he closed the door behind himself.

Geralt nodded. “She is. I don't know how she does it, but she keeps Dandelion almost sensible most of the time.”

”I could take a look at her throat at some point,” Regis mused as he laid his satchel down and shrugged off the damp cloak and tunic. “Her voice seems fine, but she could benefit from some exercises.”

Geralt dumped his breastplate on to a bench and turned to look at Regis. The vampire was looking at his notebook, contemplative. He was leafing through the pages when Geralt brought his arms around his waist.

”I'm sure she'd appreciate it,” he muttered into Regis' hair. The vampire chuckled and leaned his head back. They stood like that for a while, until Geralt pressed a kiss to Regis' throat.

”I kinda miss Corvo Bianco,” he sighed and smiled. Regis made a questioning sound as his hands came up to loosen Geralt's hair tie.

”Could do this pretty much whenever I liked,” Geralt hummed and pressed another kiss to the slowly thumping pulse. “It's different here.”

Regis turned around and kissed him. It was sweet and familiar.

”I know, love,” he said when they parted. “I keep watching you and thinking, 'how did I get so lucky?'”

Geralt grinned, a bit embarrassed. Regis simply smiled so wide his eyes crinkled. “So I have no choice but use these moments of privacy well. I'm sure you will forgive me for getting sentimental on occasion.”

There was a knock on the door and they parted.

The bar hand gave Regis a tray laden full of food and ale and offered some choice words about the troubadours currently playing downstairs. Regis laughed as he bid the man goodbye. Geralt was once again struck by how easily Regis seemed to endear himself to the people around him. Priscilla trusted Regis, despite knowing he was not human. The staff of the Chameleon knew him by name and Regis seemed to know them, always exchanging a few words with them when they met.

Regis was like that, Geralt thought, good with people. He had no doubt taught himself to be nonthreatening and gentle after he quit drinking blood. He had deliberately chosen a profession, no, two of them, where he would be in close contact with humans almost all the time. And he seemed to genuinely enjoy it. Geralt grew tired of constant company much faster than Regis did.

”Are all vampires like that? Naturally good with other people?” Geralt asked as they ate.

Regis shook his head and laughed. “Oh, no. We are quite reclusive, even among our own. You cannot possibly have met Dettlaff and think he enjoys constantly being around others.”

Geralt admitted Regis was right. “I was just thinking about how you always manage so well around people, despite having to hide your true nature.”

Regis gave a small smile. “Years of practice, my dear. After I decided I no longer wished to drink blood, I spent _years_ overcoming my crippling shyness.”

”Hard to imagine you as shy,” Geralt mused, brushing his hand against Regis'.

The vampire looked down and chewed thoughtfully. “Think of it like this: For years, I had been relying on what is essentially a drug for me to even talk to others. After my reformation, I quit altogether and left the company of other vampires for a long while. It was the only way I was able to prevent myself from relapsing, but it also robbed me of all familiar faces.”

”And you love conversations and friendships, despite being shy,” Geralt said, suddenly knowing it to be true. Regis smiled and his fangs glinted. “Just so. So I forced myself to open a practice and taught myself to talk to people. Humans are much easier to converse with when both of you are focused on something else, it turned out. It took a long while, but I did learn.”

”Damn. That's kind of cool,” Geralt grinned. Regis looked down, and for a second the bond fluttered. It was confusing, a totally new feeling, until Geralt understood Regis was feeling embarrassed. This realization was followed by a strong rush of affection.

Regis must have felt it, too. He looked up and his eyes glinted, even as he smiled. “Forgive me. It's been a while since I've thought about those times, and your unreserved adoration is most definitely a feeling I'm not used to associating with those memories.”

Geralt took Regis' hand into his own and squeezed it. The vampire swallowed and took a deep breath before returning the gesture.

”Can I ask a personal question?” Geralt asked when Regis had composed himself and resumed eating.

Regis gave him a small smile. “Always.”

”What does blood do to higher vampires? I know you don't need it to survive, but...” Geralt trailed off, wondering why he had never asked this before. The thought had cropped up now and then, usually when Regis' past had come up. It had never been a good time, he decided.

Regis wiped his mouth on a napkin and leaned back. His black eyes were thoughtful. When he spoke, his voice was even but he seemed to choose his words carefully.

”You know it has intoxicating properties,” he begun. “Most of my kind who partake in human blood do so simply because it is very pleasant.”

”But that's not the true reason, isn't it?” Geralt prodded. Regis sighed and looked down. He had apparently known Geralt wouldn't be satisfied with the obvious answer.

”No. What separates a vampire from a human is a difference of physiology, on a very deep level. Naturally there is very little certain knowledge about the subject... But simply put, higher vampires are creatures of flesh and blood, but also of what could be called the aether,” Regis explained. His voice was growing more certain, and Geralt knew he was drawing strength from his love of sharing knowledge.

”We survive on what food and drink this world yields, true, but our true nature is inherently tied to blood. Before the Conjunction of the Spheres, we subsisted on something altogether different. Upon our arrival into this world, we somehow discovered human blood produces similar effects.”

Geralt frowned. He had never really thought about how vampires had become known as creatures who drank blood. He would have never guessed they had been a different kind of a species before the Conjunction. All the sinister legends had been born in this world, resulting from a clash of two different species of sentient beings, as well as the lesser vampires.

”And these effects?” he asked suddenly, returning to the present moment.

Regis was silent for a long while. Finally he crossed his arms and stood up. He walked to the window and looked into the night.

”Our powers are tied to blood. Our near-immortality stems from it. It heals us, makes us whole,” he said very quietly.

”Wait a minute,” Geralt said as he stood up. “Are you saying you're essentially committing some infinitely dragged-out suicide by not drinking blood?” he asked, wincing at the harsh words.

Regis turned to look at him. He was looking tired and sad.

”I wouldn't put it-” he begun and then stopped abruptly. His shoulders tightened. “I... Forgive me. I will not lie to you, Geralt. I will not be whole without blood. I will not heal back into what I was. I'm prepared to live with that,” he said much more quietly. He turned away again, his posture rigid.

Geralt felt momentarily numb. His head was full of what felt like white noise. He wanted to be angry. For Regis, at him, it didn't matter. He realized Regis had not lied, per se, but he hadn't been completely honest either. Before now.

Geralt let out a breath and forced himself to relax. Then he walked to Regis and wrapped him into a hug. Regis went, if possible, even more stiff. Geralt didn't let go. He stroked Regis' hair and stood his ground.

”It's okay,” he whispered. “I'm not angry. I love you.”

Regis let out a broken sob and sagged against him. His hands clutched Geralt's shirt and he took several deep, shuddering breaths. Geralt held him, letting Regis use him as an anchor. The bond was pulsing frantically, and he tried to soothe it as well as he could.

Finally Regis drew back and wiped a hand down his face. He looked shaken. Geralt kissed his brow and then Regis drew him in for a proper, deep kiss. Geralt allowed himself be swept away by the feeling. When they finally parted, he was almost out of breath.

”You are amazing,” Regis breathed.

Geralt smiled. “So are you. But don't try to distract me. Can we talk about that?”

Regis nodded. He looked reluctant but didn't fight Geralt when he pulled the vampire to sit down on the bed.

”So you're essentially saying you're not gonna heal properly because you won't drink blood?” Geralt prodded gently. Regis leaned his head on his shoulder and took his hand.

”Yes. That's the long and short of it.”

”And you're growing weaker because of that.”

”Very gradually, but yes.”

Geralt swallowed. He was feeling like he was trying to see where the cracks in the ice were, like one wrong step would plummet him into cold and dark. It was a stupid fear, but one he felt anyway.

Regis turned to look him in the eye. “I cannot take the risk. I know that my abstinence is costing me dearly, but I refuse to put anyone into danger anymore.”

”I know,” Geralt sighed and held him closer. They sat like that for a long while.

Suddenly Geralt sat up straighter. A memory had resurfaced.

”Regis,” he said urgently. The vampire looked at him, confused.

”How did you feel when you bit me in Toussaint? You said you felt fine afterwards.”

Regis looked away, but Geralt brought his hand to his chin and gently turned his face back. “Please, Regis. If there's a way I can help, I have to know.”

Regis bit his lip. “I don't know. It was such a small amount.”

Geralt searched for his gaze. “But you said it was different because I'm your mate.”

”It is,” Regis admitted. “But one never harms their mate.”

”But that's what I mean,” Geralt insisted. “You wouldn't harm me. I know that.”

Regis was looking at him with wide eyes, his brow furrowed. Geralt gently knocked their foreheads together. It was a gesture witchers used when greeting a close friend, and to him it always spoke of deep trust.

”Damn it, Regis. I want to help you. I feel what you feel, you know that. I know you need to heal,” he said. Finding the words was so hard, despite his very core knowing how he felt. When Regis still looked unconvinced, Geralt growled and _pushed_ , making the bond jump and stutter with the force of the feeling.

Regis drew in a breath and his eyes closed on their own accord. For a while he seemed swept away, and Geralt knew he had gone deep inside his head. He kept pushing, suddenly desperate to have Regis understand. He needed to help Regis. If there was a way, Geralt would do it, because otherwise what good was he as a mate?

When Regis finally opened his eyes, he looked calmer. He let his head fall forward and rested it against Geralt's chest. The witcher knew he was listening to his heart, it's steady and slow pumping.

”I never imagined I'd find a mate. Even after all these months, in my deepest parts I couldn't believe it true. I found myself dreading the time when you decided to leave,” Regis suddenly whispered. Geralt drew in a breath, the mere thought causing him to feel ill, but Regis went on.

”But I think I was mistaken.” The words were uttered with such honest disbelief and raw hope that Geralt laughed, his heart feeling suddenly very light. He drew Regis up and kissed him. Regis kissed him back, and he seemed so relieved he all but melted against Geralt.

”I'm not gonna leave,” Geralt said when they came up for air. “You're stuck with me.”

Regis sniffed and wiped his eyes. “I know. I trust you, but my heart's had a hard time accepting the truth.”

”Old habits, I know,” Geralt said and grinned. “How about we make some new ones? Something to help you heal and make me stop worrying.”

Regis looked at him for a long while. He was completely still, and Geralt let him take his time.

Then Regis let out a broken sigh and bent his head to nuzzle Geralt's neck. His breath felt hot and moist on Geralt's skin, and the barest of contact felt like the most intimate thing they had ever done.

”Are you sure?” Regis whispered as he pressed a soft kiss under Geralt's ear.

”Yeah,” Geralt breathed. His hand twitched, searching for something to hold on to, and Regis took it without hesitation. Then he drew in a long breath and sank his fangs through the pale skin.

Geralt felt the breach, the red, hot pain sweep through him. On its heels came a rush of heat, pooling in his belly. Regis' lips sealed over the wound, and Geralt could tell when the first rush of blood hit him. The vampire gave a full-body shudder and moaned deep inside his throat. The bond exploded into white light inside his head, just as the heat intensified, threatening to drown Geralt altogether.

It was only a few seconds, but it felt like an hour. Regis withdrew slowly and licked along the wound to close it. Geralt felt each touch like his whole body had been reduced into raw nerve endings. He must have made a sound, because the next thing he knew, Regis was looking at him closely. His eyes were completely black, but still they managed to look kind.

”Geralt?” he whispered. His voice was hoarse.

Geralt was so hard it almost hurt. When Regis' fingers brushed against his neck, he moaned and drew the vampire closer.

Their lips crashed together, and Geralt heard Regis give a breathy growl as he was pinned to the bed. The kiss was heated and filthy. Geralt could taste his own blood, and knowing what they had just done sent another searing flame through him.

”Regis- Gods, I need you,” he panted when they parted. “I want you, please-” Regis made another nonhuman sound, and then he was all but ripping Geralt out of his clothes. Geralt heard his shirt tear, and didn't give a damn. All that mattered was getting as close to Regis as possible.

Regis turned into mist and materialized on top of him, his right hand immediately finding its way to open him up. The second his fingers pushed into Geralt, the witcher let out another moan. Regis kissed him again, more teeth and tongue than lips. He parted and started to suck and bite Geralt's neck, the epitome of possessiveness. Geralt saw him shift in the dim light, and the sight made his cock twitch.

Regis trusted him. Trusted him enough to show him this side, true, but also enough to allow Geralt to help him in a way no one else could.

Regis thrust into him, and Geralt sobbed. He was strung tight, already rushing towards orgasm, and Regis was making breathy sounds that told him he was not far behind. The vampire pounded into him, holding him in place with one hand, other hand circling his weeping cock.

”You're mine,” Regis breathed, and Geralt nodded, it was all true, and he came so hard everything seemed to fade into the bond and sheer feeling.

When Geralt finally managed to gather his brain and opened his eyes, Regis was resting against his chest, his eyes wide and mouth slack. He was staring at Geralt, still more vampire than human. Geralt smiled at the sight, reaching to brush the black and grey curls from his forehead. He trailed his finger along the curve of a pointed ear, admiring the supernatural color of Regis' skin.

Before, Regis had always shifted back into his human form immediately after sex. Geralt had meant to tell him he didn't need to, but he hadn't been able to find the words. Now Regis seemed content to take his time. Geralt loved it.

”How do you feel?” he asked quietly. Regis blinked and then he smiled, the hesitant expression so open and vulnerable it wrenched at Geralt's heart.

”Alive,” Regis whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dunno if you guys noticed, but the whole chapter thing of this fic changed. Chapter 1 is much longer than what it initially was, so if you're feeling confused, head over to that and check out the updated version. Thank you and sorry for any confusion! <3

**I**

Regis woke up slowly. It was like resurfacing from a deep sea filled with magical creatures he forgot how to describe the moment his conscious mind took over the dream. When he opened his eyes, he saw Geralt was awake and watching him quietly. His fingers had been carding through Regis' hair, and it had been the gentle contact that had pulled him from the dream. Regis stretched and yawned before rolling half on top of Geralt.

”Morning,” the witcher laughed.

”Good morning,” Regis answered, burying his head into his lover's neck. It was still early. Neither of them were late sleepers.

The bite mark had healed nicely, he observed. It had been angry red in the evening as they had cleaned up after their frantic romp. Geralt had been _smiling_ all the time as Regis had dabbed the wound with antiseptic, and afterwards he'd kept looking at Regis like he was somehow unbearably proud of him.

”It's not hurting,” Geralt murmured.

Regis smiled and pressed a kiss next to the mark. “I'm glad to hear that.”

Seeing the marks of his fangs on Geralt's skin had made him queasy at first, but now that he knew was still in control of his faculties and the witcher kept smiling and being fine, it was also causing fierce heat to bloom in Regis' chest. He felt possessive and so, so in love.

”What about you? Still alright?” Geralt nudged him gently and Regis rolled on his side to face him.

”I am. Thanks to yourself,” Regis hummed.

“Do you feel any different?”

Regis was on the verge of saying no; telling Geralt that it was too soon to tell, or something along those lines, when he stopped. He did feel different. His body was recovering in a way it had been denied of for decades.

Regis nodded, trying to find the words. “It's hard to describe, but I feel more...real? It's the same feeling I experienced when our bond was established, now that I think about it. Only a touch stronger.”

”Then it's good, isn't it?” Geralt asked. He looked calm and curious.

”Yes, it's a good feeling,” Regis smiled. “But it's been well over three hundred years since I have been able to drink blood in moderation, so it's a new one as well.”

”And no danger of frenzy, right?” Geralt prodded.

Regis didn't feel insulted. He'd shared so many gory tales of his past with his trusted friends it was only the sensible reaction. It told him Geralt cared.

”None. But your blood is different from human blood _and_ you're my mate. Hurting you is simply impossible for me,” Regis answered.

”You look like you've had the best night's sleep in fifty years,” Geralt observed. “So I guess I'm a really good pillow, or my blood is really working.”

”Both, my dear,” Regis chuckled.

They got up and dressed. As he did so, Regis suddenly stopped and blinked. His head felt funny, almost like a sudden burst of vertigo was threatening to overtake him. It shouldn't have been possible, he thought vaguely. Geralt turned around, about to say something, and noticed his odd look. He was instantly concerned.

Regis shook his head, trying to focus. It felt like his mind was twisting around itself. Then a flurry of emotions hit him. An involuntary gasp escaped his lips and he felt Geralt's hands grip him tightly.

”Regis?” the witcher asked in anxious tones.

”I'm fine,” Regis mumbled. A smile broke free as he understood. “More than fine,” he added in whisper.

He was feeling Dettlaff's surprise and joy coursing through him, their bond feeling a hundred-fold more alive. Regis sent back a pulse of gratitude and relief.

So their bond had been weakened by his abstinence, too. And now that his body was healing, _truly_ healing, he was getting back the connection he had spent his early years yearning for. Geralt had taken him into his heart, and it had been more than enough, and now he had given him this, too. Regis realized his eyes were filled with tears. Geralt was by his side and wrapped him into a hug when he noticed.

”Hey. Talk to me,” he said. Their bond was rippling with worry. Regis let his gratitude course back to Geralt, who blinked in astonishment.

”Something happened.”

Regis laughed and kissed him shortly on the lips. “Yes. My bond with Dettlaff is being restored.”

Geralt looked surprised and delighted. “You felt him?”

”Yes. Much more strongly than I had grown used to,” Regis explained, feeling almost giddy with relief. He had been so afraid of their bond slipping into silence in the course of the past year. Thinking back, the gradual decline had started some time after Dettlaff had given Regis his blood for the last time.

”Now you'll never convince me this was a bad idea,” Geralt grinned. “I haven't seen you this excited since you discovered the still in my alchemy laboratory.”

”So few of my kind abstain completely from drinking blood I didn't know how profound the difference is,” Regis said thoughtfully. “But I repeat my earlier thought: I am very lucky to have you as my mate, Geralt.”

Geralt smiled brightly, his eyes shining. “Feeling's mutual.”

There was a knock on the door. Regis pecked Geralt on the lips and went to open the door. Priscilla was standing there and she smiled at him, her blue eyes kind.

”Good morning. I was worried I might wake you guys up, but it seems you're early risers,” she said. “There's a messenger waiting for you downstairs. It seems urgent.”

Geralt sighed as he continued to strap himself into his armor. “Lemme guess, dressed in Nilfgaardian colors?”

Priscilla smiled apologetically. “Guessed right. Are you in trouble?”

Regis chuckled. “No. But I'm guessing the ambassador has informed the emperor of the status of our investigation.”

”Damn babbling nobles. I was gonna go see Emhyr today, but not at seven in the morning,” Geralt grumbled as he picked up his swords and slung the belt over his shoulder. “They better feed us breakfast.”

Priscilla laughed at that, but her eyes kept flickering back to Regis, like she was puzzled about something.

”We'll try to be back for supper,” Regis told her as they descended the stairs.

Priscilla nodded. “I sure hope so. We haven't had the chance to catch up properly yet. _And_ Dandelion has been telling me you're well-read, and I'd love to discuss poetry with you.”

”Oh, that sounds lovely,” Regis answered. “It's been ages since I've had a proper literary tête-à-tête. Geralt, for all his admirable qualities, has never expressed an interest in the higher arts.”

”Hey, can't have everything,” the witcher laughed as they emerged into the main room.

Geralt went to talk with the messenger, a young woman who seemed half-terrified, half-excited to meet the famous White Wolf in person. Regis went to follow, but Priscilla grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. She was still looking at him like she was troubled.

”Is something wrong?” Regis asked her when she seemed to be at a loss for words.

She bit her lip. “Are you okay? You look...different, somehow. I don't know how, but it's bothering me.”

Regis smiled. He had known Priscilla was keen-eyed, but to be able to see what was happening to him proved she had considerable emphatic abilities despite being a human.

”I am. More so than I've been in a long time, in fact,” he said quietly, trying to soothe her worries.

Priscilla's gaze darted to Geralt and then back to Regis. Suddenly her eyes widened and she looked back at Geralt; at his neck, which the armor he was wearing exposed just enough to show the healing wound.

”I thought you didn't...” she whispered and then couldn't finish. She took a step back, but it seemed unconscious.

Regis understood the reaction and suddenly he felt ill. Why hadn't he thought about this? Geralt knew him in a way that was unique. Anyone else was liable to feel alarm after finding out Regis had been drinking blood. The thought of being looked at in fear sent a cold, clammy tingle of horror crawling up his spine.

”Priscilla, please, listen to me,” Regis said. His throat felt tight when he saw Priscilla looking at him warily. “It's not- I mean to say-”

”I made him do it,” Geralt said as his hand landed on Regis' shoulder. Priscilla was looking timid. “Whatever Dandelion's told you about Regis' past, this is totally different. I asked him to do it because it helps him heal.”

Geralt squeezed Regis' shoulder, and the bond soothed his ragged nerves. “We've gotta go. Emhyr will get pissy if we keep him waiting.” The witcher looked back at Priscilla. “We'll talk in the evening, I promise. There's nothing to worry about.”

The woman looked confused and worried as they turned to leave. At the door, Regis turned around once more.

”I’m sorry I scared you,” he said, before closing the door.

The messenger had arrived with a carriage, of which Regis was suddenly desperately grateful. He knew he needed a moment to compose himself before meeting the emperor. Geralt slid next to him on the plush seat and the woman closed the door. The witcher immediately grabbed Regis' hand and rubbed his thumb across his knuckles.

”I'm sorry, I should've covered it up,” he said. “I was stupid.”

Regis turned to look at him, incredulous. “You can't possibly think this was your fault,” he answered. “If anything, _I_ should've thought this through-”

”I asked you to bite me-”

”And I know how people react to vampires, and I still did it. It's my fault, no wonder she was scared-”

”Will you shut up and listen?” Geralt cut in, giving him a small shake. “Yeah, she was scared, but maybe it wasn't only because of you.”

Regis looked at Geralt. He didn't understand a word.

Geralt sighed and drew him closer. “She was abducted and forced to drink formaldehyde less than a year ago. She doesn't show it, but she's traumatized. I know it because she hasn't been singing on stage after that and she avoids going out alone. So, I'm guessing she had a flashback of some sort.”

Regis felt himself relax minutely. Geralt's words made sense, to an extent.

”I feel bad for alarming her. And I'm afraid other people might have similar reactions,” he mumbled. Geralt rested his chin on top of his head.

”We'll deal with it. I'll be more careful to cover the marks up in the future. It's no one else's business but yours and mine,” he said.

”In the future?” Regis parroted. He felt Geralt give a faint laugh.

”You need the blood. Now that I know how big the difference is, I'm not gonna let you go without.”

Regis closed his eyes as sad certainty washed over him. He could feel Geralt's absolute conviction in the bond; the witcher knew he was helping his mate, and nothing would make him see it otherwise.

The worst part was, Regis knew how that certainty felt. He'd felt it yesterday, when he had been drinking from Geralt. No matter how sweet the blood tasted, there simply wasn't a way for him to keep going for more than a few seconds. His whole being, body and mind, rebelled at the thought. It was no different from the fact that if Regis knew he could do something to help his mate, he would do it, consequences be damned.

And true enough...

”I'm not letting you suffer if I can help you. And it's not like I'm harmed by giving you half a pint of blood every now and then,” Geralt huffed.

Regis heaved a sigh. “No, but that's not the root of the problem. I imagine our mutual friends are more worried about me coming for them next.”

The thought left him feeling sick to his core. He realized he'd grown accustomed to not being looked at in fear. The mere possibility of that getting taken away felt like a festering wound inside his heart.

”You're not,” the witcher's warm voice said. Regis looked up. Geralt was looking straight at him. His golden eyes were almost glowing. The carriage gave a lurch as it started to climb the hill towards the Temple Isle.

”Pardon?”

”I said you're not gonna do that. You keep forgetting I feel what you feel. When you realized Priscilla was alarmed, you were more scared than I've ever felt you be. And just now you're feeling disgusted at the thought of biting anyone else,” Geralt said slowly as he deciphered the feelings and thoughts. “You have grown up, Regis. You're not the same person you were three hundred years ago.”

Regis looked down. He felt horrible. Even trying to believe what Geralt was saying was too much to ask.

His mate could feel that as well. “You keep telling me how people can change and grow. Why not you? You've had several human lifetimes to do so.”

”I'm simply trying to avoid causing any more harm,” Regis answered quietly. “It's been the most important thing in my life after my I quit my addiction.”

”Yeah, I know. But you need to face the realities. You're not harming anyone right now. It's the exact opposite, because I feel better when I know you're not wasting away,” Geralt countered.

”I was surviving just fine-” Regis begun, but Geralt interrupted him.

”Surviving is not the same as living,” he said gently. “How long would it be before our bond would die away, too?” he added under his breath. The bond shook with concealed pain for a second. And that Regis understood. The thought of losing his mate was too painful to bear. He couldn't imagine what it would be like, to gradually lose the most intimate contact he had ever experienced.

Regis felt himself sag against the witcher. Geralt's arms held him easily, and during the rest of the journey he seemed to concentrate on calming Regis the best he could. When they stepped out of the carriage in the destination, Regis could tell he was feeling better. Not good, but decent enough to imagine focusing his attention on something else.

When the big front doors were opened for them, Regis bumped against Geralt lightly. The witcher looked at him with raised eyebrows, and Regis flashed a genuine smile. “Thank you,” he mouthed. Geralt smiled back before his expression shifted to annoyance. The prickly chamberlain, Mererid, had materialized before them, and was wearing his customary expression of perpetual disapproval.

”The gentlemen will follow me.”

”Since you ask so nicely,” Geralt muttered under his breath. Regis was pretty certain Mererid was not able to hear the words, but he couldn't help smiling.

He could tell the chamberlain wasn't the least bit afraid of Geralt, which in itself was unusual. The witcher seemed to assume he was disliked because of who he was, but Regis had a creeping suspicion Mererid's antipathy had more to do with Geralt's refusal to respect the emperor.

It was easy to see Mererid was devoted to his master, and had been for decades; anyone who crossed Emhyr var Emreis was automatically classified as an enemy in the chamberlain's books. Regis had a short moment to wonder whether the emperor was aware of this loyalty, but the thought was dismissed as Mererid opened the now-familiar doors for them. It was the same room they had visited a few days ago. They were announced, and the chamberlain bowed out.

Geralt nodded to Emhyr and smiled to Cirilla as they entered. Regis bowed to them, a short but polite gesture he had picked up well over three hundred years ago. It was not protocol, but he was fond of old habits.

Regis had thought about the meaning of the gesture after his first meeting, and had come to the conclusion that he personally did owe the emperor some degree of respect, no matter what transgressions the man might have committed in the past.

Emhyr var Emreis knew what he was, and he had still allowed him to walk free. It's not like he could've hoped to detain Regis, but the conscious decision not to try had been apparent. And Regis was still allowed to meet him in the company of Geralt; it was further proof Emhyr var Emreis wasn't afraid of him.

”Witcher, master Regis. Sit down,” the emperor said. He gestured towards the table that had been set up. Regis was pleased to see they were indeed being treated to breakfast. A hungry witcher was prone to being prickly and hard to deal with.

”I'm sorry for calling you here so early, but the report we received from ambassador var Attre was alarming,” Cirilla said when they were seated and started with the food. “I felt it necessary to summon you. This changes things.”

Geralt relaxed minutely when he realized it had been his daughter who had requested their presence. “Don't worry. What do you wanna know?”

Emhyr var Emreis was not eating, merely regarding them both keenly. “What happened? How was miss Rosa var Attre mixed up in this?” he asked.

”We were on our way back to the cabaret, when Regis heard noises we decided to investigate. There was a dark shape being pursued by someone. We managed to get a short glimpse of the shape before it disappeared with magic, but Rosa claimed it had been a person abducting a young girl. She had been following them,” Geralt explained.

”And how do you know Rosa var Attre? Your tone suggest you have met her before,” the emperor asked, frowning.

”I, uh, met her when I was still looking for Ciri. When I was trying to find what happened to Dandelion. The bard, I mean,” Geralt said. He looked uncomfortable, and Regis knew the witcher didn't want to explain how the whole meeting had come to pass.

Emhyr var Emreis kept frowning, but ultimately seemed to decide the matter could rest. “Very well. You followed miss var Attre and saw a shape disappear. Did you find out anything else?”

”Rosa claimed the abductor had a sun emblem on their robes,” Geralt said.

Ciri's eyes widened. “Really? How'd it look?”

Geralt shrugged. “Dunno yet. I meant to go see her before coming here,” he said, sending the emperor a disapproving glance.

”She has been summoned. We will meet with her shortly,” Emhyr var Emreis said. “A sun emblem is not enough to tie the mystery to the Nilfgaardian court, but it is worth investigating.”

”Your majesty, there are several cults and organizations that have used the sun as their symbol,” Regis pointed out as he wiped his mouth. The piercing brown eyes turned to him.

”I am aware,” the emperor nodded. “But it seems too much of a coincidence in the present circumstances.”

Regis inclined his head in agreement. “True. You have a hypothesis, I take it?”

Emhyr's eyes flashed in surprise. He had apparently thought Regis either wouldn't see through him or wouldn't be brave enough to broach the topic.

”I do,” he finally said. “I'm suspecting there is someone inside the administration or the court who is behind this. And I am growing worried.”

Cirilla tapped her lip thoughtfully with a spoon. “If it's someone inside the Nilfgaardian circles, investigating the happenings themselves is of little use,” she mused. “We need to catch the leader to stop the abductions.”

Geralt scowled. “If it is one of your own, this gets way more complicated. And why would a Nilfgaardian do that anyway? I thought they were all ecstatic about capturing Novigrad, seeing how they have been flocking here during the past months.”

Ciri shook her head. “That's not the problem. There are many locals who disapprove of our presence; mostly old trading families who secretly sided with Nilfgaard during the war and are now finding their influence waning with the imperial administration disbanding the underground guilds and gangs.”

Geralt made a faint groan. “You're seriously not messing with the gangs? The whole city had been run by them for gods know how long,” he said to Emhyr.

Emhyr var Emreis narrowed his eyes. “I will not tolerate criminals running the most influential city in the whole of North-” he began, but Geralt interrupted him.

”You'd do well not to anger them, at least. They have a lot of power here,” the witcher said disapprovingly. The emperor looked ready to argue his point, but Cirilla cut in.

”How about we hear what Rosa var Attre has to say?” she suggested with a meaningful look to both his biological father as well as to Geralt. “And whether or not this is somehow tied to the court, I think it's time to acknowledge the possibility that there is something bigger going on. I have a bad feeling about this.”

Regis felt a chill run down his spine. He didn't know how Cirilla's Elder Blood worked, but he had heard the tales of her impeccable foresight when it came to danger. If the Lady of Space and Time was of an opinion to treat the situation as a real threat, Regis wouldn't be the one to suggest otherwise.

To his surprise, the emperor nodded. He was looking at Cirilla with a thoughtful look before looking to Geralt. “I agree. I am inclined to let you continue your work, but the terms must be altered.”

Geralt lifted an eyebrow. He too looked puzzled seeing Emhyr agreeing with his daughter so readily.

”I'll continue, sure. But there's kinda little I can do about the whole court and administration thing,” he said.

”That is where you are mistaken,” Emhyr var Emreis said as he turned to look at _both_ Geralt and Regis. “There is a way to make you both a part of the daily life of the higher circles of Nilfgaardians without giving away your true objective.”

Regis felt an odd sense of foreboding, then. He had no time to react to it before the emperor continued.

”You will be employed by the Nilfgaardian court. Geralt, whose ties to Cirilla are well-known, will take a place of an instructor to the nonhuman affairs. A minor position which anyone not directly involved will see as an expression of sentiment; a sign that Cirilla will want her surrogate father near her. To augment the illusion, the witcher will serve as a fencing master to both Cirilla and Rosa var Attre. The pretext will be that Cirilla needs to acquaint herself with the local Nilfgaardian aristocrats, but in reality it will be a valuable asset to have direct access to the var Attre household. They are a wealthy and politically powerful family.”

This was followed by a ringing silence. Regis watched as Geralt's face went from confusion to absolute horror, before turning into flat refusal.

”Hell no. I am not working publicly for Nilfgaard,” the witcher begun, and now it was Emhyr var Emreis' turn to interrupt. He looked almost pitying.

”You have done it already, witcher. You found Cirilla for me, and turned half the Continent around to do so. Your part in the plot that involved the assassination of king Radovid is more well-known than you'd like to think,” he said forcefully. “Your witcher neutrality has died long ago, whether you like it or not. This is the time to acknowledge that.”

Geralt swallowed and his eyes flashed with anger. “Fuck you, Emhyr,” he bit out. “If this is a plot to secure my public approval for your conquests, you can forget it.”

Regis could feel his mate's rage through the bond. It was coursing through him, burning hot. Underneath he could sense a deep personal conflict, and Regis knew Geralt was well-aware of how close to the truth the emperor was skirting.

The emperor didn't flinch. He met the furious golden eyes with equally stubborn fire. “I don't care whether you approve of my goals, _Geralt_ ,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. The use of first names didn't escape Regis, and by the looks of it, Cirilla had picked up on it too. Her eyes were wide as she followed the exchange.

”But I know you dislike mindless slaughter, and your sense of right and wrong cannot abide innocent children getting abducted from their families. The question is whether you are able to face the fact that you have chosen a side and endure the consequences to solve this.”

Geralt stared at Emhyr var Emreis for a long time. He was still as a statue, but Regis felt their bond go wild with anger, incredulity, and, surprisingly, grudging admiration. There was a tense silence that lasted for an eternity before Geralt suddenly broke the eye contact and rubbed both hands down his face.

”Fucking hell. Whatever,” he muttered. When he dropped his hands he looked less angry. “You can justify that however the hell you want. I don't give a shit. I'm doing this for Ciri, and her alone.”

Emhyr var Emreis' face didn't give any inclination this statement affected him in any way. Cirilla grasped Geralt's hand over the table.

”I'm going to make sure you don't have to attend any ceremonies or anything. I'm sorry,” she said. Geralt looked at her, and his expression morphed into something tired and gentle. “Don't worry. I'll manage. The situation's serious, and if there's something I can do, then I'll do it,” he said.

Regis knew it was evident to all present how much the witcher cared about Cirilla, then. He had known the depth of Geralt's heart for a long while, but this was different. The witcher was setting aside his own comfort to a level not many would have been able, only to ensure his daughter's future.

Judging by Cirilla's broken smile, she knew it too. She didn't say anything more, just squeezed Geralt's hand tightly. Geralt gave her a weary smile before turning a defiant gaze to the emperor.

”What's Regis got to do with this? You mentioned us both.”

Regis had almost forgotten about that. Emhyr turned his sharp eyes to him again.

”I know who and what he is. I also know you trust him more than anyone else. Therefore, I am inclined to continue benefiting of his supernatural abilities to solve this case,” he said. Regis still felt puzzled.

”But how could my presence be justified?” he asked. There was no apparent way of including him into the subterfuge that he could see, whether or not he felt like he could help Geralt to unravel the mystery.

Emhyr var Emreis regarded them for a while; he was clearly deciding something, and the knowledge made Regis uncomfortable. “Master Regis speaks several languages, including the Nilfgaardian dialect. He will serve as a teacher to Cirilla,” he finally said.

Regis was reminded of their first meeting months ago, when Emhyr had asked questions that bore no apparent significance to the present situation; whether Regis played chess, if he spoke Nilfgaardian.

” _There may well come a day when this knowledge could prove useful.”_

Geralt frowned. “But that's a flimsy excuse. I bet there are several imperial teachers available.”

Regis nodded as Geralt presented the obvious caveat. However, he was absolutely certain the emperor had something to counter it, and he knew neither of them would like it.

Emhyr var Emreis sat up straighter. His eyes were every bit as intense as they had been in the course of the conversation, but suddenly Regis could see a hint of uncertainty flash in them. It was gone before he could tell what it meant.

”Yes, there are. But if he is presented to the court as your partner, we can claim to appeal to Cirilla's affection,” he said in a low voice.

Stunned silence followed the words.

Regis felt numb. He felt like he had been dropped into some other reality. There was a distant awareness of the deathly stillness in the bond, which worried him as he tried to process the proposal and its consequences.

He knew Nilfgaardians had very different attitudes concerning same-sex relationships than Nordlings, but that didn't change the fact that they were in Novigrad. It wouldn't be safe here, no matter how he looked at it.

”No.”

Regis realized he had spoken aloud only when all three turned to look at him. He swallowed before continuing. “I don't care about my own reputation, but it's not safe for Geralt. The general public of Novigrad knows his face too well. He would become a target, and that I will not allow.”

The emperor lifted his hand in an almost genial manner. “I am not proposing anything public. I'm well aware of the backwards attitudes that prevail in the North. But if we only implied that you share more than a friendly bond, the court would accept your presence-”

Geralt stood up so abruptly his chair fell over.

”Back off, Duny,” Geralt said very slowly as he loomed over the emperor. His voice was deathly cold and he looked even more furious than he had been before, if that was possible. The bond was vibrating, so filled with roaring energy it was only a searing hum at the back of Regis' head. Regis didn't recognize the name Geralt was using, but Emhyr apparently did; his eyes narrowed as his hands clenched into fists.

”You will not entangle Regis in your insane plots. I don't give a _fuck_ what you come up with, but he will not be dragged into this mess against his will,” the witcher enunciated as his fingernails dug into the wood of the table. Even Cirilla looked at him like she had never seen him before.

Regis was reminded of Stygga, all of a sudden.

He had seen Geralt fight several times, of course, but there had been only a handful of occasions when he had unleashed his truly feral side. All of them had been branded into Regis' memory. Now Geralt was like that; all furious, hot protectiveness Regis had come to associate with him defending his daughter. And all that feeling was being directed at _him_.

Regis felt his throat go tight for a moment. The last doubt of Geralt staying with him was melting away rapidly. He stored the information carefully away for later inspection and concentrated on pushing for calm and reassurance over the bond. They could talk about that later.

Little by little, the fire calmed and Geralt relaxed. Regis felt two pairs of curious eyes on them and he was suddenly aware of what they were seeing. Geralt had been angry and ready to walk out, until he suddenly wasn't, and Regis had been staring at him intensely the whole time. It was bound to give birth to a whole host of questions some time in the near future.

”I can do that,” Regis said quietly when Geralt had calmed down. “But nothing public.”

Emhyr var Emreis nodded as he leaned back. His eyes kept moving between Geralt and Regis, and the vampire didn't like it one bit.

”Good. I'm certain we can reach a mutually satisfying solution,” the emperor said. “We will need to house you on the Temple Isle for this to be convincing. We'll meet miss var Attre shortly to discuss her account and inform her of the fencing lesson arrangement. You can take a moment before that.”

Emhyr var Emreis stood up and left the room without a glance back. When the door closed, a deafening silence descended over them all.

Cirilla let out a wavering breath and then brought her hands in front of her mouth. ””'m so sorry,” she choked. “If there was any other way...”

Geralt immediately circled around the table and pulled her into a hug. Ciri buried her head into his shoulder as he stroked her hair.

”Hey. Don't worry. We'll manage,” Geralt murmured. “It's gonna be alright.” The anger had dissipated like snow into rain. Regis watched them and knew how curious it was to see a man go from fury to caring this quickly. It was only possible when the two were linked together as closely as this. Ciri knew the feeling too, because she was the same. She loved as viciously as Geralt did. Perhaps it was a witcher trait.

Regis joined them and laid his hand on Cirilla's shoulder. “Geralt speaks it true, Cirilla,” he said. “We are prepared to help you and those children.”

Ciri looked at him with glistening eyes. Before Regis could react, she was pulling him into the embrace as well. Regis hesitated for a moment, and then brought his arms around Cirilla's narrow shoulders and Geralt's waist. Standing there with them, he felt like his slowly beating heart would burst.

Finally, Cirilla drew back and looked at Regis. “There's something magical between you two,” she said slowly. “I sensed it when I visited Corvo Bianco, but I wasn't certain before now.”

Geralt chuckled and nodded. He didn't look alarmed, merely proud of her keen eye. “Yeah,” he said. “But it's not magical, strictly speaking.”

Ciri looked them over and then closed her eyes. Regis felt a curious sweeping sensation, and suddenly realized her magic was washing through him. The feeling was pleasant, as if his whole being was resonating with it. Geralt was wearing a broad smile, and the bond told Regis he was feeling it too.

”Oh,” Ciri whispered when he opened her eyes. “There's a bond. A real, physical bond. I've never seen anything like it. What is it?”

Geralt shrugged. “Apparently it's a vampire thing. We don't know what mutagens I received when I was a kid, but Regis suspects there were some that were derived from vampires.”

Cirilla looked awed as she processed the words. “And they made this possible. You're physically homogeneous enough for it,” she said. “Oh, that's wonderful. I bet it's amazing.”

”It is,” Regis said and smiled.

Ciri turned her shining eyes to him. “And you're able to drink from him,” she suddenly said. Regis' eyes widened. The bond jumped and stuttered.

”How'd you-?” Geralt stammered.

Ciri grinned. “My magic can sense people's essence. Regis has some of yours in him. That's how I know,” she explained.

Geralt laughed and reached out to mess up her hair. Ciri protested and attempted to smack him. Regis watched them and felt a profound sense of calm wash over him. Cirilla had seen their bond and understood it. She knew Regis had taken Geralt's blood, and she thought it was all right.

Suddenly Regis was certain they would overcome whatever awaited them. Somehow, it would all turn out okay. The feeling was so new and odd he was forced to examine it closely.

As he watched Geralt and Ciri joke with each other he came to the conclusion that this was what his mentor had meant. To have a family, to have people who accepted him as he was, flaws and everything, was what made people strong. Not only vampires, but everyone.

Regis smiled, then. He smiled so wide he knew Cirilla could see his fangs, and he knew she wouldn't be scared.

 

**II  
**

 

”I hate doublets.”

Regis made a sympathetic sound as he buttoned up his own attire. In shape, it was similar to what he was used to wearing, but the resemblance ended there. The material was made of wool so fine and soft he had never even touched anything like it. It had been dyed very dark plum and embroidered with thin, silvery adornments along the sleeves and collar. The shirt and breeches he had been given were both black, and equally as luxurious in materials. Even the shoes were like from some other plane of existence.

Regis turned towards the mirrors, despite knowing he wouldn't see anything in them. Geralt was standing before the gilded frames and scowling furiously. He had been provided with almost identical trousers, as well as a black undershirt. He was looking down on his gambeson and tying the belt.

Regis swallowed. The tunic was a rich, deep red, and with the black garments and form-hugging cut, it made the witcher look dashing. The hem ended just halfway down his thighs.

Geralt turned to look at him. “Don't tell me you actually like this,” he groaned and gestured towards the clothes.”I feel even worse than when Anna Henrietta forced me into the traditional Beauclair stuff.”

Regis stalked closer and brought his arms around his waist. He tried and failed to suppress his grin. “Well...” he said slowly. “Red and black do look good on you.”

Geralt rolled his eyes before leaning down to press a kiss under his ear. “Glad to see someone's having fun,” he muttered. Regis chuckled. He was still dumbfounded by the turn of the events.

Rosa var Attre had been clearly apprehensive about being summoned to meet the emperor. Her account of the previous night's events had not changed, however. She had not been able to provide a clearer description of the sun emblem she had seen.

Emhyr var Emreis had dismissed her soon, after making her swear she wouldn't breath a word of the events to anyone, including her own family. The young woman had clearly thought the whole affair odd, and Regis was absolutely certain she would have a lot of questions to Geralt later.

But that hadn't been the weirdest thing. Soon after, Emhyr var Emreis had sat them down with several important public servants and generals and had coldly informed them of Geralt's new position as an advisor. The announcement was met with some minutely lifted eyebrows and polite greetings. Regis could tell the three generals present knew who Geralt was, and none of them had ever imagined he would voluntarily choose a job like this.

Their eyes had kept flickering to Regis, who had started to feel awkward by the time Cirilla stood up and presented him. Regis made a short introduction in Nilfgaardian, and registered some measure of surprise from the gathered nobles; they had read the situation exactly as the emperor had postulated and categorized Regis as someone who was being given a job in the court purely out of sentiment. Him speaking their dialect fluently was clearly something they had not really expected.

One by one, Regis could see them understand the matter. No one voiced it aloud, but by the time the meeting concluded, each and every one of them looked at him and Geralt as a unit. It was a superb red herring, and one the emperor had devised seemingly effortlessly. Regis felt some measure of admiration at the man's ability to read people and pull the right strings.

As they had been bidding goodbyes to Cirilla, one of the generals had approached them. He was rather young to have risen into such position, but he carried himself elegantly. His light brown hair was tied back and he greeted Cirilla warmly.

”General Morvran Voorhis, at your service,” he said in Common as he shook Regis' hand. His command of the language was good, but he didn't make any effort to hide the lilting accent, and Regis suspected it was deliberate; a reminder that he was not local. “Geralt and I know each other already, I'm afraid.”

”Emiel Regis,” Regis answered and nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

”It's surprising to meet a commoner who is so fluent in Nilfgaardian. Tell me, master Regis, where have you picked up the skill?” General Voorhis inquired. His deep-set eyes were friendly, but Regis wasn't fooled by the geniality. He was certain Voorhis was trying to gauge their goal, clearly less convinced by the lie than the others.

Regis gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I am a physician by trade, but one with an avid interest in linguistics. A close friend of mine hails from Nazair, and he taught me the language a long time ago.”

Regis felt the bond ripple with amusement. Geralt knew, of course, that Regis was referring to Dettlaff, who was truly neither a true Nazairi nor the source of his skill. But it was a convenient lie, and close enough to the truth to be convincing.

General Voorhis nodded thoughtfully. “But you are not from Novigrad originally, I'm guessing?”

Regis shook his head. “Quite right, general. I'm originally from Brugge. A town called Dillingen, to be exact.”

”Ah, yes. I know of the place,” Voorhis hummed. “But now you have apparently settled in Toussaint.”

Regis didn't allow himself to hesitate before inclining his head in agreement. “The climate is delightful, and Beauclair is a city like no other,” he laughed.

Dancing along the edges of truths was making him feel uncomfortable. Regis didn't know what Geralt really thought about this whole debacle, since they hadn't had the time to discuss it. But for the sake of the job, they needed to give away enough to make a handful of people believe in their relationship, even if it was never announced aloud.

***

”Regis? Are you okay?”

Geralt pulled him closer again. He was looking worried.

Regis nodded. “I'm just thinking about the meeting. I hope you're not feeling too uncomfortable with the publicity.”

Geralt shrugged and looked through the window. “I'll manage,” he said. The set of his shoulders made it clear he didn't wish to discuss the matter further. When he turned back around it was to change the subject. “How's Dettlaff, by the way? Is he coming?”

Regis felt for the bond for a second, allowing the familiarity to soothe him. “He's on his way. He'll be here soon.”

Geralt nodded, looking sullen. “Good. We could use someone on the streets now that we're stuck here.”

Regis gave a dry laugh. “True, my dear. However, there are worse places to be stuck at, don't you think?” he said and gestured around the room.

They had indeed been housed at the Temple Isle; in one of the old, beautiful buildings just past the bridge. They had a bedroom and a separate chamber for bathing. The downstairs had a large dining room and a kitchen with a full staff. The building was used for housing Nilfgaardian nobles and their families during their stay in Novigrad, and Regis didn't miss the way the steward had looked at them when they had arrived. He had seen a couple, and the realization was only deepened when Regis had seen their assigned quarters were clearly meant for one.

Geralt looked around the room, and Regis knew the witcher had seen the same as he had.

”I wonder how they got our stuff here so quickly,” Geralt sighed. “Dandelion's gonna be pissed when he realizes we are no longer staying at the cabaret.”

”I'm sure he'll manage,” Regis answered. He sat down before the desk that faced away from the window and brought out his notebook. After leafing through the pages he hummed thoughtfully. “I'm supposed to meet Cirilla in an hour. I wonder if they really expect me to teach her Nilfgaardian?”

Geralt laughed at that. “As far as I know, her accent is horrible and she knows even more swear words and curses than I do.” The witcher turned a gleeful glance towards Regis. “If anything, I'm the one getting off easy here. Telling nobles they should get friendly with the Scoia'tael and giving fencing lessons to two women is a walk in the park compared to teaching Ciri Nilfgaardian, believe me,” he said.

Regis huffed a laugh, happy to see the solemn mood lift somewhat. “I'll take your word for it. But, as you well know, I am quite stubborn myself. I'm certain I will pull through.”

”Your self-confidence is something to be admired,” Geralt said airily as he sat down on the bed and leaned back. Regis looked at him for a second and then pushed away from the chair. He slowly walked towards the bed and let the bond be filled with heat. Geralt's throat bobbed as he swallowed and looked up at Regis. His pupils widened, and Regis let his fangs show as he leaned over him, balancing his hands on either side.

”Truly, now?” he whispered. “And here I thought you were the one people pegged as self-assured.”

Geralt licked his lips.

***

Cirilla closed her journal with a soft thud and leaned back. She had only a little free time, and while she would have preferred to spend it sneaking out and away from his responsibilities, her common sense prevented it. She had taken to keeping a diary to help the transition from a witcher into a crown princess; mostly it served as introspection, but writing things out helped her find out what were the questions she needed to ask to get better and smarter.

She let her eyes sweep over her study. It was located adjacent to his father's, but was decorated with a more personal touch than his. Ciri liked the room, and didn't mind spending time there, but there was a limit to how much sitting down a girl could take.

Despite the uncomfortable situation into which Geralt had been pushed, Ciri was desperately glad they would get to spend some time together. And to use that time fencing was an added bonus, even if Rosa var Attre would join them.

Ciri had no opinion of the woman, other than that she seemed sheltered and stubborn. There was every chance she would turn out to be tedious and shallow, but Ciri was prepared to endure the company of yet another Nilfgaardian noble if she got to hang out with Geralt regularly. And Regis, too, she suddenly remembered. The vampire was meant to pose as a teacher for her.

Regis carried himself like a man who had a lot of secrets to keep. It was true, but in Ciri's opinion the important ones he wore on his sleeve. To her, it was plain to see how much Regis loved Geralt. And vice versa: the witcher kept gravitating towards him whenever they were in the same room.

When Ciri had met Regis for the first time in Stygga castle, she had been crazy with fear. A bat-shaped monster bursting into the laboratory had done nothing to alleviate the feeling, despite it quickly having become evident the thing hadn't been after her blood. And suddenly the bat had been gone and replaced by an elderly man in a dark tunic, greeting her genially and flashing sharp teeth as he drank a man dry.

Ciri had known, instantly and in her bones, that he had been a vampire. Her powers sometimes allowed her a glimpse into people's core, and she'd seen Regis for what he was. Her initial fear had given way to sad acceptance after they left Stygga. She had seen how Geralt had looked at the place where Regis had died, and a stab of pain had torn through her. Whoever the vampire had been, losing him had hurt Geralt deeply.

When Dandelion had told her Regis was alive and needed help, Ciri hadn't hesitated. She'd never managed to extract many words about him from Geralt, but the few tales he had shared with her had been enough; Ciri had been certain Regis was important like no other person, although the true depth of that caring didn't become clear until she walked in on them in Corvo Bianco.

She had been surprised and then instantly delighted. Regis kept a close eye on Geralt and didn't allow him to overexert himself during the first days of healing, but he also provided the witcher the kind of comfort Ciri had never seen him receive.

She and Yen were the witcher's family, and they would always be that; Ciri thought of Yen and Geralt as her parents, and she was their child by mutual choice. But families are weird things, she mused as she watched the people mill about the square outside. Her family had grown during the years. At first, it had only been Geralt and Yen. Then she'd met Triss, Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert, and all of them had become dear to her. As were Dandelion, Zoltan and Priscilla. And now Regis was becoming a permanent fixture in her life, and the thought left her feeling excited and happy.

The vampire had initially seemed wary of her. It had been both respect and regret, but Ciri had done her best to break through it. She liked Regis, liked his soft-spokenness and his wise words as well as his unflinching devotion to his friends. And unlike Geralt, who seemed to occasionally forget how old Regis was, Ciri had never been fooled by his appearance. Her powers made it impossible not to see the threads of time clinging to the vampire. He was carrying the eras with all his usual grace, and Ciri suspected it was simply something his people developed as they aged.

A soft knock on the door announced her visitor. She went to open the door and was greeted by a warm smile and black eyes.

”Good day, Cirilla,” Regis said as he entered. “I'm a few minutes early, but I hope you'll forgive me.”

Ciri grinned. “Oh, don't worry about it.” She gestured towards the comfortable chairs next to the window. “Tea?” she asked.

”Yes, please.” Regis took a seat and looked around the room. He was dressed in much more elegant clothes than Ciri had ever seen him wearing before, and she suspected his biological father was to blame. Emhyr wanted the illusion of them being truly employed by the court to be convincing. The refined garments made Regis look the part of a court official. His effortless grace and posture only added to the picture.

Regis noticed she was staring and grinned. “I know,” he said good-naturedly. “If I had a visage, I would be finding it hard to believe my own eyes, too.”

Ciri gave a laugh. “I was thinking how well you seem to fit in to the role of a court teacher,” she confessed, drawing a laugh from Regis.

”You should have heard your surrogate father's opinion on the subject of fancy clothes,” he said with eyes glinting with mirth. “It's almost a pity he hates official garments as much as he does.”

”I've never seen him in anything but witcher armor and clothes,” Ciri breathed, her eyes widening with delight. “Oh, I can't wait to tease him about it. I was hoping you two would dine with me tonight.”

Regis considered her for a second before nodding. “I don't see why not, seeing as we're not staying at the cabaret any longer. It would be my pleasure.”

Ciri smiled at him. “So, how does this teacher charade work? Not that I don't enjoy spending time with you, but are you truly willing to suffer through it?”

Regis sat up straighter. “I am not a teacher by profession, but I don't see any harm in trying to teach you the language of your forefathers,” he said thoughtfully. “But I was under the impression you did speak Nilfgaardian.”

Ciri sighed. “I do, but not the kind of Nilfgaardian that will get me far in the court. Papa refuses to converse with me in anything but Common until I learn more. He says my accent hurts his ears.”

Regis laughed at that, covering his mouth with a hand.

”Pardon me,” he chuckled. “How about we switch to Nilfgaardian, so I can be the judge of that?”

By the time they were finished for the day, Ciri was feeling decidedly less cheerful. Regis was a good teacher, that was evident, but he was also demanding and didn't hesitate correcting her pronunciation and grammar, unlike many others who simply feared her too much to try.

She groaned as she shuffled her notes into something resembling order. “I'm getting a feeling that this will take a lot more work than I anticipated,” she said.

Regis finished screwing an ink bottle shut and looked at her. His black eyes were kind. “You're doing just fine. Learning languages takes time and effort, true, but the more you know the easier it will become.”

Ciri shrugged. “It's the same with anything you try to learn, I guess. This whole court life is so different from what I'm used to, and papa keeps telling me I need to master the basics before we depart for Nilfgaard proper after Yule.”

”How are you doing?” Regis asked as he stood up.

Ciri bit her lip, considering her options. She didn't really have anyone to confide in, at the moment. She didn't want to complain, but sometimes it was so damned hard.

”It's a hassle, but I think I'll come to like it,” she finally said. “I want to make the world a better place, and this is the best way I can hope for.”

”And your father is helping you to the best of his abilities,” Regis mused. It was a statement, but it struck Ciri as uncommonly insightful. As far as she knew, Regis had only met Emhyr three times.

”You think so?” she asked.

Regis smiled, his eyes narrowing. “Your father is perhaps the most intelligent man I have ever met, and that's saying something. Giving the task of teaching you to rule anything less than his full and absolute focus seems uncharacteristic.”

”Mm. True,” Ciri acquiesced. “I just keep wondering whether he cares about me, specifically. It's a bit childish, I know, but sometimes it would be easier to keep going if I knew he doesn’t at least actively dislike me.”

Regis looked at her in understanding. “You are talking about how Geralt taught you,” he said. “You could always be absolutely certain he loved you, even when he was demanding and harsh.”

”Yeah,” Ciri said, biting her lip again.

”Think of it like this, Cirilla,” Regis said gently. “Your relationship with your biological father is something that will take time to develop, and it will need both of your efforts to become close. It's a mutual choice you make. But however that turns out, you will always have Geralt and know he cares and will have your back.”

”And you,” Ciri blurted out. The words were followed by a long silence, until Regis smiled wider. Ciri caught a glimpse of his fangs.

”That's true.”

***

Geralt kept tugging at the neckline of the gambeson as he sat by the window and looked into the darkening evening. A messenger had come by earlier and informed him that Ciri would come and have dinner with him and Regis. The news had made him happy, but unfortunately some stupid piece of etiquette required him to keep wearing the fancy clothes if he were to dine with the crown princess.

It was worth it, however, getting to whisk Ciri away from Emhyr for an evening.

Geralt was feeling curious about how Ciri and Regis would get along when they spent more time together. He knew Regis cared deeply for Ciri and was ready to play the part of a teacher. But knowing Ciri's temperament and her lack of fear for anything unusual, it could also prove to be a challenge to Regis' patience.

The whole contract had slipped out of his control when they had been made to take part in this farce. The last straw had been the publicity. No matter what anyone said, Geralt felt like they were being watched every time they ventured outside. Normal people didn't give a crap, but anyone who was someone in the Nilfgaardian administration seemed suddenly very interested in them.

It was uncomfortable. He had wanted to keep his relationship with Regis to himself, only revealing it to a small handful of trusted people; and now it was thrown out in the open, and Geralt feared it would wreck everything.

He was disturbed by a knock on the door.

”Yeah, come in,” he called, expecting someone from the staff. When ambassador var Attre stepped in, Geralt stood up.

”Ambassador,” he greeted politely. “I wasn't expecting you.”

”I will not be staying long,” var Attre said. He waved his hand to the guards and they closed the door. Geralt saw the man looked worried.

”I have been informed that my daughter is to take up fencing lessons with you and lady Cirilla,” he said with no preamble. His voice was even, but Geralt smelled a hint of something that wasn't quite fear coming from the man.

”That's true,” he only answered, interested to see where this would go.

The ambassador held his gaze as he took a step forward. “I have no quarrel with you, master witcher, but I would be glad to keep my family out of anything unnatural. You are here on a job, as I know, but I see no reason to involve Rosa in it.”

”Unnatural? It's just fencing,” Geralt said. He decided to drag the bluff a bit further, in order to see whether the ambassador would take the bait.

”She is a nobly born, pure-blooded Nilfgaardian lady, not some Nordling squire lad from the Farcorners,” var Attre suddenly spat out. “I have tolerated her childish whims too long already.”

Geralt heard his pulse quicken and the smell of stress getting stronger. Something was not right, but finding out what it was wouldn't happen now. The ambassador was too suspicious of him.

”I'm sorry to hear that, ambassador,” he said.

He realized he was feeling angry; he was liking the ambassador less and less, because he saw it fit trying to control his daughters like they were his property. It was like the Lodge had been with Ciri; and how Emhyr had been, and still was, to an extent.

”But I can do very little to change the situation. The emperor himself has decided Cirilla needs to get familiar with other Nilfgaardians her age. I suggest you take the issue up with him,” Geralt added in much quieter tones. Var Attre opened his mouth, but he seemed to catch up on Geralt's mood before voicing any more opinions.

”Hm. I shall think about it,” he muttered before bidding him an abrupt goodbye. Geralt saw him out and returned to his seat, rubbing his eyes.

The whole situation was getting too complicated. He had always tried to steer clear of politics, and look where it landed him, time and again. If he didn't end up fighting alongside elven rebels and befriending their legendary leader, he was somehow involved in a plot to assassinate a king, or managing to influence the race to the throne of Skellige

”Fuck me,” he groaned. “I was never any good at this crap.”

***

When Regis and Ciri returned, Geralt saw right away that they would grow close very quickly. Regis was in the middle of an elaborate story, weaving his words with the usual mastery, and Ciri was laughing so hard she had trouble breathing. Regis' eyes were crinkled as he smiled, and Geralt was suddenly very aware of him not bothering to hide his fangs from Ciri anymore when he was certain they were alone.

The dinner was served to them in a private cabinet. Ciri managed to convince the imperial house guard to wait outside the doors, and they enjoyed the privacy. Without prying eyes, the words flowed easier. Halfway through the main course Geralt realized he felt like home for the first time in weeks. He looked at Ciri and Regis and felt a rush of contentment. Regis felt it too, and his eyes turned soft as he gave a minute nod.

The dinner concluded early, and Ciri groaned about having to return to the main building to help Emhyr deal with correspondence. Geralt chuckled. He knew by now that Ciri did enjoy the work, despite putting on a show. At the door he drew her in a hug, causing the guards to flinch and not giving a shit.

”It's okay,” he murmured into her hair. “I'm not gonna break if you tell me you like it here.”

Ciri drew back, her eyes uncertain. Geralt grinned and mussed up her hair. “ _I'd_ hate it, but you are related to some of the most ruthless monarchs I've ever met. I wouldn't be surprised if you came to enjoy it.”

Regis laughed as Ciri scowled and attempted to smack him.

”Whatever,” she scoffed as she attempted to hide her grin. “I'm just glad you're here to suffer with me. The red suits you wonderfully, I'd say.”

Geralt sputtered. He wasn't sure whether to feel insulted when both Regis and Ciri burst into laughter. Finally his daughter waved them goodbye.

”I'll see you tomorrow for the fencing lessons,” she called from the door. ´”Don't be late!”

***

After retiring into their rooms Geralt immediately stripped off the too-tight clothes and abandoned them on a chair in favor of his familiar trousers and white shirt. He sighed as he relaxed into the sofa cushions.

”This is gonna be rough,” he muttered as Regis puttered about the desk, making notes and digging out dictionaries and charts. The vampire looked up from his work and gave him a compassionate smile. “I know, love. I'm sorry you have to endure the publicity. I know how much you wanted to keep everything secret.”

Geralt leaned his head back, but suddenly he sat back up.

”Hey, hold up,” he said. “I'm not saying I'm somehow ashamed of you.”

Regis stood up and came to sit next to him. He looked patient and gentle. “I know. But it doesn't mean you're not finding it difficult. Remember, I feel what you feel.”

Geralt bit his lip. He _had_ been feeling uneasy whenever they had been seen together, but he'd thought it had been a minor feeling that would come and go. Knowing Regis had felt it through the bond made him feel like crap.

”I'm sorry. I really don't mind-” he said haltingly, but Regis shook his head to stop him.

”There's nothing to apologize,” he said and took Geralt's hand. “It's an unusual situation, and you're entitled to your feelings and thoughts. Just know that I love you.” Regis kissed him on the forehead and returned to the desk.

”Love you too,” Geralt mumbled as he sank back into the cushions and fiddled with the leather cord that he used to tie his hair back.

They sat in silence for a long while. Regis worked, presumably putting together a lesson plan for Ciri, and Geralt watched him. He enjoyed quiet domesticity like this, and despite the conflicting emotions flitting through his head, he was able to sink into the underlying happiness of being together.

Suddenly, Regis sat up straight and his eyes went vacant. Geralt jumped to his feet and approached carefully. Regis was very still for a few seconds before turning to look at him. He was smiling.

”Dettlaff's arrived,” he whispered. “He wants to know if he's welcome here.”

Geralt actually laughed. “I thought vampires didn't need an invitation to cross the threshold,” he said in jest.

Regis rolled his eyes. “He's being polite, you wretch,” the vampire said, but he was smiling so widely there was no bite to the words. He concentrated for a while and only some moments later red mist billowed in through the window.

Dettlaff van der Eretein materialized next to the window. He was wearing his customary black, long coat. The last time Geralt had seen the black-haired vampire, he had been looking tired and almost depressed. Now he was giving them a tight smile, his eyes much less harried.

”Regis, Geralt. Good to see you again,” he said in his low, sonorous voice. Regis walked up to him and they grasped hands. Geralt felt an echo of something ripple through his bond with Regis. It felt like a mixture of relief and contentment, and he knew the two vampires were greeting each other through their own bond.

Geralt shook hands with Dettlaff. The vampire kept looking at him curiously as they sat down.

”I understand it's customary to inquire after your well-being when meeting again,” Dettlaff said. “But I find that somewhat unnecessary when I have been feeling my bond with Regis grow back in the past days.”

Geralt cast a glance to Regis. He was smiling.

”It's true,” Regis said. “I'm healing.”

Dettlaff looked satisfied. “I feel you like I used to when you were regenerating. It's reassuring.” He turned his bright eyes to Geralt. “And it seems I'm once again in your debt. You've saved Regis.”

Geralt shrugged. “It's the least I could do. I'm not human and Regis will not harm me, so it's the safest way of getting the blood.”

”You had a choice,” Dettlaff said quietly. “And you keep choosing to help him.”

Geralt resisted the urge to squirm. Regis saved him from answering.

”Be that as it may, there is a reason we called you here, Dettlaff. We could use your help.”

Dettlaff nodded. “Tell me.”

Regis cleared his throat. “Children are going missing. Young girls, to be precise. We fear it could be tied to the Nilfgaardian administration in some way. Geralt was hired by the emperor to investigate, but now we are tied to the court to see if it's someone on the inside.”

Dettlaff frowned. “That explains why you're here and dressed like that.”

“We could use someone on the streets. I'm sure the girls will not stop going missing just because we're masquerading around, but we are not able to do everything by ourselves,” Geralt clarified.

Dettlaff opened his mouth to say something, but a knock on the door interrupted him. Regis shook his head reassuringly and went to the door.

A distressed looking man, whom Geralt recognized as the head of the kitchen staff peeked through.

”I'm terribly sorry, masters, forgive the interruption. A kitchen boy cut himself, badly. I was told there is a surgeon in the residence-” he stammered. His eyes were alarmed, as if he expected to get kicked out for disturbing them.

Regis laid a hand on his arm. “That would be me. Please, let me fetch my kit and I'll help him.”

Regis went to his bag, extracted a small satchel and turned to look to Geralt.

”I will be but a moment,” he said and smiled. He left after the cook and closed the door.

A heavy silence descended over the room. Dettlaff kept looking at the door, and Geralt tried desperately to come up with something to talk about.

”He hasn't changed much,” Dettlaff finally broke the awkward silence, gesturing towards the door through which Regis had disappeared.

Geralt cocked his head in question. “What do you mean?”

Dettlaff smiled. “Regis has always been a person who likes to help others. Even when he was young and, pardon me, not as wise as he is now, he still loved it.”

Geralt felt curiosity tug him. “What was he like when he was younger? He's told me all about his past, but that's his own point of view,” he asked before his nerves could prevent him.

Dettlaff pursed his lips as he thought about the question. “Regis used to be very shy, as you probably know. I tried to befriend him on many occasions, but it simply didn't happen until...” he trailed off, and Geralt understood: not before Dettlaff had found Regis' remains in Stygga castle and brought him back.

”Why'd you do it?” Geralt asked.

Dettlaff turned to look at him. His eyes were very serious, but he didn't seem offended by the question.

The silence stretched for a long while until Dettlaff sighed and looked away. “It's hard to explain, but it has something to do with my abilities. I get these...not premonitions, to be accurate. My intuition is simply very sharp. I had a strong feeling that Regis would become an important person in my life, somehow.”

”You decided to risk your own life on a hunch?” Geralt asked disbelievingly.

Dettlaff huffed a laugh. “You could say that. I sense when the people I meet have potential to become special to me. And this time I was correct.”

”This time?” Geralt repeated.

Dettlaff looked at his hands and his fingers twitched. “The instinct has...misled me, in the past,” he simply said, and suddenly Geralt knew he was talking about Syanna. Dettlaff had had a feeling about Sylvia Anna, and somehow he had misread it. Maybe his gut had tried to warn him off.

”But you and Regis grew close after you brought him back,” Geralt said in an attempt to salvage the conversation.

Dettlaff's mouth quirked into another smile. “Yes. He had been so sure he'd never find a pack of his own that when I told him what I had done, he almost grew angry with me.”

Geralt laughed, imagining the situation. Dettlaff looked at him curiously.

”You're not bothered by this information about me?” he asked, tilting his head in question.

Geralt shook his head. “I've had plenty of time to get used to all sorts of weird things about higher vampires. You know I have a real bond with Regis, anyway.”

”Yes, and it's very curious,” Dettlaff answered thoughtfully. “I found it very improbable at first, but especially now that my bond with Regis is coming back I can feel it, too.”

”The witcher mutagens,” Geralt shrugged. “As I said, I'm not fully human.”

”But you're not vampire, either,” Dettlaff added. When he saw Geralt lifting an eyebrow he smiled and continued. “Don't get me wrong. I think you're good for Regis.”

Geralt sat back and thought about it, but he couldn't see any way to read Dettlaff's words as anything but honest. “How's your bond with him?” he asked.

”It's getting stronger again,” Dettlaff said. “I was sad to see it weaken, but I couldn't come up with a way to prevent it.”

Geralt nodded in understanding. “It took me months to get him to drink my blood.”

Dettlaff was suddenly looking at him very intensely. “You are Regis' mate, but he has trouble trusting in the bonds he forges. It was the same when I revived him; he kept trying to push me away.”

”Even when he knew it would've basically killed him?” Geralt asked. He felt something tight inside his chest.

”Yes,” Dettlaff said. “He had simply been alone for so long it had become the default for him, even when it shouldn't be so for one of our people. We form packs because it's in our nature. And Regis, for all his deflection and shyness, is no different.”

”Huh,” Geralt said. “Well, thanks for sticking up with him.”

”He kept asking about you when he came back,” Dettlaff said noncommittally. “At first I thought you were a threat to him. But when I met you and had the chance to speak with you, I saw my mistake.”

Geralt smiled as he found himself relaxing. He liked Dettlaff's blunt manners and way of saying exactly what was on his mind. He and Regis were like night and day, but not in a bad way.

Dettlaff leaned his elbows to his knees. He looked down on the carpet as he thought. “I'm curious, why are you here? I was under the impression you were not very fond of Nilfgaardians.”

Geralt sighed. “It's complicated. My daughter is the crown princess of Nilfgaard and they're having trouble with the missing kids.”

Dettlaff frowned. “I thought witchers were sterile.”

Geralt scratched his neck. “We are. Ciri is mine by the Law of Surprise. I helped her father many years ago. He was cursed and only later turned out to be the emperor of Nilfgaard.”

It was a woefully bad explanation of everything that had happened at the birthday party where he had been posing as the Ravix of Fourhorn and had ended up ensuring Duny and Pavetta got married. It seemed like several lifetimes ago.

Dettlaff looked confused. “The Law of Surprise,” he mumbled. “I never fully understood it, to be honest.”

”Not many witchers do,” Geralt told him in a sudden fit of honesty. “Usually it just serves to land us in a hell of a trouble. My friend Eskel got his face clawed in half by his surprise child. Not that it makes him look ugly or anything. He's great. A much better person than me, really.”

Dettlaff looked at Geralt like he wasn't entirely sure what the witcher was saying, but he was maybe a touch too polite to ask for clarification. Geralt was thankful for that.

”Anyway,” he coughed. “We're helping Ciri. She's amazing. And I want to find out what's happening to those girls. A Nilfgaardian noble's daughter claimed to have seen a sun emblem on the abductor's robes.”

”And you're suspecting the Nilfgaardians could have something to do with it,” Dettlaff said.

”Or that someone is trying to set them up. We'd like you to go around the city after dark, keep an eye out,” Geralt said. “We are trying to find out whether there's someone working inside the court.”

”That I can do,” Dettlaff said immediately. “And should I see someone kidnapping a child, I will do my best to help them.”

”That's good,” Geralt said. “We need to find out what's happening.”

 

**III  
**

 

When the time came, Geralt had been surprised to find out that the fencing lessons were being arranged at the var Attre mansion. In a way it made sense, however. Rosa wouldn't need to step a foot outside the house and she'd get something to pass her time. Geralt could sympathize with her; he had spent three days sitting in council meetings, and he was sorely regretting going along with Emhyr's plan.

Geralt was under no illusion that the young woman was satisfied with her situation. As far as he knew, the ambassador had not relaxed his grip on his daughters one bit after the debacle. If anything, the var Attre daughters had been even less present in the public. The witcher had no idea how Edna var Attre was handling the situation, but Rosa was bound to be feeling like a caged animal. He felt bad for her, despite not exactly liking her.

He was interrupted by steps descending the stairway.

”Witcher,” Rosa var Attre greeted him. ”You're here early.” She was dressed in the customary training attire and her gaze was piercing.

”Greetings,” Geralt answered. He had abandoned the fancy tunic and was wearing his own clothes for a change.

”I was under the impression lady Cirilla would be joining us,” Rosa said. She seemed tense, but not because she was anxious about meeting Ciri. Geralt couldn't put his finger on what was bothering her. Perhaps her father had told her what he thought about these lessons.

”She will. She'll be here soon, I think.”

Rosa pursed her lips and sat down on a bench. “What's she like? I've been hearing rumors she's your daughter as well as the emperor's,” she asked, looking Geralt over.

Geralt shrugged. “What do you wanna know? I'm sure you know she's not actually related to me. Witchers can't get children.”

”But you raised her, I take it?” Rosa inquired.

”Yeah. She was my ward for a long time.”

Rosa looked thoughtful. “There have been all sorts of wild rumors about her...”

She had barely uttered the words when the door at the top of the stairs opened, and Ciri entered. She turned back to exchange some words with the captain of the guard and then closed the door.

Geralt smiled to her and she greeted him with a grin. She had dressed up in something almost similar to what she'd been wearing when she'd been fleeing the Wild Hunt with Avallac'h. The sight made Geralt feel helplessly proud.

”Sorry I'm late,” Ciri said as she reached to hug Geralt. She turned to Rosa. “You must be Rosa. It's good to finally meet you.” She was looking kind and unassuming.

Rosa looked her over before sweeping a short, formal bow. Geralt wasn't entirely sure what the etiquette said about meeting a crown princess, but he was pretty sure women didn't bow. Ciri seemed to arrive to a similar conclusion, and the realization made her smile grow a touch wider.

”Your royal highness,” Rosa said when she straightened. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Ciri shook her head. “No need for formalities here. You can call me Cirilla. It's not like we have any audience, and the official titles are a mouthful.”

Rosa regarded her suspiciously before she nodded. Ciri turned to look at Geralt.

”So, we're getting lessons from the master,” she said with a smirk. “What have you been planning?”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “To be honest, I'm not sure how much I can teach you anymore. I was thinking we could stick to conventional fighting styles.”

”Hmm, yes, because I'm the only one with no magic or supernatural abilities,” Rosa cut in with a cold voice. Ciri turned to look at her, her eyebrows inching upwards in surprise.

Geralt cleared his throat. “Yes. That was the initial reason,” he said. When he saw Rosa's scowl deepen, he added: “But even people with special abilities must know how to do combat in regular ways. Sometimes they can't reveal their skills. Sometimes they may have no access to them. A friend of mine, a witcher, once had to battle a group of bandits in a castle that blocked any kind of magic.”

Ciri's eyes widened. “Ooh, was is Lambert?” she asked, grinning.

Geralt shook his head. “No, Eskel. He's much better with witcher signs than your average guy, and he usually relies on them heavily. He told me he almost got killed then.”

Rosa was still looking unhappy about the whole thing, but not enough to continue protesting.

They worked through several basic drills together. Geralt made sure he paid both of the women equal amounts of attention to avoid any more bad blood from springing up. Rosa was still surprisingly good, and Geralt saw Ciri watching her with approval by the time they were taking a break.

He went to get a goblet of water, and heard Ciri flop down on the bench next to Rosa.

”You're good,” she said with a smile. Geralt heard Rosa heave a sigh.

”For a normal human, you mean.”

”Yes, but it's not meant as an insult. I can't help having powers, but I think this kind of practice is useful and fun.”

Rosa scoffed. “Fun?”

Ciri shrugged. “Yes. I have missed being able to train regularly after returning to my father.” She was silent for a moment. “Why do _you_ do this?” she asked curiously.

There was shuffling sound as Rosa stood up. “Because needlework is dreadfully boring, to be honest,” she said in grudging tones, but finally dropping the worst of her hostility. “Papa hates my hobby, and my sister calls me manly, but it's the only thing I'm really good at. I'm complete rubbish with the proper ladylike things.”

Ciri laughed at that. “I know the feeling. My father keeps telling me I should stop scaring the men if I want to find a suitable fiancé.”

Rosa turned an incredulous eye at Ciri. “But... You're going to be empress,” she said. “You're going to rule. It seems like a good thing if you should scare the people a little.” Suddenly she blushed and averted her gaze. “I'm sorry. I spoke out of turn,” she mumbled.

Ciri stood up and clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Don't worry. It's nice to hear someone has the same idea about this thing as I do,” she grinned.

 

Geralt paired the women up for the second part of the lesson. First, he had Rosa blocking and parrying several strikes made by Ciri, then flipping them around. He saw Rosa looking at Ciri with questioning eyes as they sparred. For the last part, he let them spar freely, and took a step back to watch.

Two things became clear right away. First, the underground room they were using was too small for their purposes. Second, Ciri and Rosa were surprisingly evenly matched when the former was prohibited from using her powers. Ciri was faster, but Rosa had more muscle power, driving her back and breaking her blocks many times.

Finally Geralt clapped his hands and the women stopped, panting and bruised.

”Good, let's wrap up,” he told them as they sat down. “Both of you are good. When Ciri is not allowed to use her powers, you're a pretty good match for each other.”

Ciri nodded. She was smart and a quick study of people's fighting styles. Lambert had taught her how to read people, and Ciri had honed the skill.

Rosa looked at him with suspicious eyes. “But she's not going to fight without them if it's a real fight,” she said in a low voice.

Ciri looked at her. “No, I'm not. But this is good practice, as Geralt said. I get to focus purely on the physical side when I'm not allowed to use magic.” She grinned at Rosa. “You're strong as hell, and you have a mean upswing.”

Rosa's eyes widened a little and she blushed again as she muttered a thank you. Ciri's eyes crinkled in delight.

Geralt shrugged. “I think this could be useful, but I won't force either one of you to take part if it's not what you want.”

Ciri looked up. “I'm game. Do you think I'd rather spent the time memorizing the Nilfgaardian infrastructure laws?” she said at once. Geralt laughed before looking at Rosa.

The woman fiddled with the handle of her sword before looking up. “I'll continue,” she simply said. It seemed like she had been on the verge of backing out, but for some reason she decided to stay. Geralt found he was glad to hear that, if only because Ciri seemed to like her.

”We have one problem, however. This room is too small,” he said and gestured around the space. “You knocked two candle stands over and collided with the walls. I'd prefer to move this outdoors.”

Rosa shook her head, looking suddenly miserable. “Papa will not allow it. I'm not to leave the estate grounds,” she said quietly.

Ciri turned to look at her. Her eyes were narrowed in a way that told Geralt she was outraged by the news and was hatching a plan.

”I'm sure we'll think of something,” she muttered. Geralt caught her eye behind Rosa's back, and she winked.

***

Regis was waiting outside the main doors when he emerged into the late afternoon sunlight. The vampire smiled at him as he waved Ciri goodbye.

”You look like you had fun,” Regis said when Geralt joined him.

The witcher grinned and shrugged. “It didn't go as badly as I feared. Ciri and Rosa got along okay after the initial stiffness.”

”You will continue the lessons, then?” Regis asked.

”Sure. We just need to come up with something to get Rosa out of there. They almost destroyed the room when I let them spar.”

Regis chuckled. Geralt let his hand brush against his. “What are you doing here? I thought you were at the library today,” he said as he resisted the urge to pull him closer.

”Ah. I was thinking we could go and see Dandelion and the others,” Regis said and smiled. “We didn't get a chance to explain why we vanished so abruptly.”

”Crap, you're right,” Geralt groaned. He brushed a hand through his hair. “Dandelion's gonna make a right show out of this, isn't he?”

”Mm. It's possible,” Regis answered as they begun to walk across the square.

The cabaret was almost glowing in the afternoon sun. Geralt saw Zoltan sitting outside, smoking a pipe and chatting with the guy who delivered most of their wines. When the dwarf saw then approaching, he jumped down from his seat and let out a delighted boom of laughter.

”There you are!”

Geralt smiled at his friend as they shook hands. He could feel Regis relaxing beside him.

”Hi, Zoltan.”

”Now, where the hell did you disappear?” the dwarf asked him as he ushered them inside. “Dandelion's been in right temper, and Priscilla only knew you were dragged off to the Temple Isle again.”

Geralt sighed as he sat down on their customary table. “It's a long story, and you're not gonna believe half of it.”

Zoltan grinned. “Those're the best kind. Sit tight, I'll go get us something to drink.”

Regis sat down next to him and put his hand on his knee. “They're going to understand,” he said quietly. “We don't need to tell them everything if you don't want to.”

Geralt squeezed his hand. He looked around the cabaret, taking in the familiar, beautiful woodwork of the walls. The bar hand noticed him and waved at them. Geralt returned the gesture with a weary smile.

”Let's see how badly we've managed to anger them, eh?” he said just as Zoltan came back, followed by pouting Dandelion and Priscilla. The woman looked at them with concern in her eyes.

Zoltan put the tankards down on the table and sat down with a huff. Dandelion and Priscilla kept standing; the bard crossed his arms and looked at Geralt disapprovingly.

”So, you decided to come back?” he said. “To see how the common rabble lives?”

Geralt opened his mouth but nothing came out. He kept looking at Dandelion like he had grown a second head.

Zoltan made an annoyed sound. “Ach, get that stick out of yer arse, Dandelion. Do you really think for a second Geralt'd want to play house with Nilfgaardians if he had a damned choice?” he growled and pulled back a chair. “Sit your fool's arse down and let them explain. They've had to listen to so much of your crap that you owe them that.”

Dandelion clearly fought back an embarrassed blush and sat down. Priscilla took a seat next to him.

Zoltan turned to look at them. “So, spill. What the hell happened?”

Regis cleared his throat and started to explain. He talked for a while, telling the three how they had been all but dragged off from the cabaret, how Emhyr had spun a tale about their supposed roles at the court, and how they had ended up going along with it. Geralt was thankful for his clear and specific way of telling it. He could see Dandelion's eyes soften, and by the time Regis was done, he was actually leaning forward and looking intrigued.

Zoltan had been laughing the whole time, but in a way that told Geralt the dwarf was commiserating them and finding the situation equally surreal.

”Well, I'm glad to hear you didn't find our rooms too shabby,” the bard finally said.

Geralt scoffed. “Don't be an idiot. I was perfectly happy staying here, but Emhyr's made everything fuckin' complicated again.”

Dandelion nodded. “Still. You're getting to forge unique connections with the Nilfgaardians. It's quite a possibility,” he said only a bit dreamily.

”Yeah, if I had any desire to keep working for them when this is over. Which can't be too soon,” Geralt muttered, drawing a laugh from all of them.

Zoltan took a sip of his ale and then pinned Regis down with his beady eyes. “Listen, Regis. I know this is most likely none of my business, but Priscilla voiced some worries earlier...” he begun, and was immediately interrupted.

”It's not what you think-” Geralt said in a stiff voice.

”Please, let me explain-” Regis begun, looking pale.

”I'm sorry!” Priscilla gasped loudly, her hands in front of her mouth and effectively silencing them all. She looked like she might cry. “I'm sorry,” she repeated. “I just... I got scared, and then you didn't come back at all, and I worried I had insulted you badly.” Her voice caught and Dandelion reached to take her hand. He rubbed a soothing thumb over her palm and turned to look at Regis and Geralt.

”Care to explain?” he said and frowned.

Regis was still looking worried. He kept looking at the table, seemingly calm, but the bond was restless.

”Geralt offered his blood to me. I took it, because I could never harm him, and the truth is I need it to heal,” the vampire explained in a low voice.

Dandelion was still frowning. “But you told us you don't need it,” he said.

Regis looked up. “It's true, yes. Higher vampires don't need blood to survive, but it still has a lot of effect on us, some of which cannot be induced by other means.”

Zoltan leaned forward. “How do you know you're not gonna hurt him? I remember what you told us about your past, Regis,” he said apologetically, nodding to Geralt.

Regis swallowed and turned to look at Geralt, who in turn heaved a sigh. This was going take a while.

”You know how witchers are made, right?” he asked. His friends nodded in unison. “Our bodies get broken down in the Trial of the Grasses and then they introduce mutagens to make us the way we are,” he clarified for Priscilla, who looked at him with wide eyes. “The mutagens mostly come from the monsters we kill. We're pretty sure there were some taken from vampires, too. If not any in the original set, then in the experimental stuff I received later.”

”So, you're saying you have...what, something in common with Regis?” Dandelion stuttered as he tried to wrap his head around the information.

”It means Geralt is physically similar enough to me that we have a bond that makes us... Well, very close. Much like the one I share with Dettlaff, if you recall what I told you the last time I visited,” Regis said calmly, clearly coming to the conclusion that sugarcoating the facts was going to do more harm than good. Geralt sent a wave of gratitude to him.

Priscilla made a small sound as understanding dawned in her eyes. “That's what you meant when you said you couldn't hurt him,” she whispered to Regis, her eyes shining with awe. Geralt smiled at her, noticing that both Dandelion and Zoltan were still a few steps behind her on this.

”Yeah. And I know that too,” he said. He felt weird discussing this with his friends, but sooner or later they would have noticed how much better Regis was looking. It was better to explain the situation properly, even if it meant once again giving Dandelion way too much information about his love life.

Priscilla reached over the table and took Regis by the hand. “I'm sorry I jumped to the worst possible conclusion right away,” she told him.

Regis squeezed her hand gently and smiled. “It's quite alright. I know you have been through a lot, and your fear was entirely justifiable. I hope we've managed to alleviate your fears.”

”Yes, you have,” she said and smiled back at him.

Regis looked at her for a moment. “I could take a look at your throat at some point, if you wish. I have some ideas for rehabilitation you might find useful,” he said.

Priscilla looked delighted, but it was Dandelion who looked like he might cry, then.

***

For the second fencing lesson Geralt actually went with Ciri. He hadn't bothered with the formal clothes, and had opted for light armor and his swords today in the interest of actually sparring with the women. They walked down the stairs together, and were greeted by much less sullen Rosa. The young woman was finishing braiding her hair and gave Ciri a small smile in greeting before nodding to Geralt.

”You've got to teach me how you do that,” Ciri said as he watched Rosa tuck away the end of the braid and secure it in place effortlessly. “I've been living with messy buns my whole life, and let me tell you, it's not nice when a drowner rips out a chunk of your hair.”

Rosa looked momentarily disgusted at the thought of a necrophage ripping out anyone's hair. Then she smiled wider. “It's not hard. Usually all proper little Nilfgaardian girls are taught how to braid their hair by the age of five,” she said.

Ciri gave a laugh and gestured to Geralt. “I grew up with a bunch of witchers. The best they managed was to either tie it up with a leather cord or just chop it off with a hunting knife when it got too long,” she explained.

”Hey, that was one time, and I did shave Lambert's hair for revenge,” Geralt protested. Rosa looked at them and was clearly torn between amusement and dubitation.

”I can show you how it's done,” she finally said and nodded to Ciri, who grinned broadly. She then turned to Geralt.

”So, you were telling me this place is too small for us to train, right?” she said and waved a hand around the room. When Rosa opened her mouth to protest, she lifted a finger. “And your father will not allow you to leave the house,” she added gently. Rosa closed her mouth and nodded. She was looking embarrassed.

Ciri looked at Geralt, who suddenly knew what she was getting at.

”You want to move us somewhere else,” he said. Ciri nodded. She turned to look at Rosa.

”I can take us someplace else for a while. I can also cast an illusion to the room, so that if someone comes in before we're back, they will think we're still here.”

Rosa looked speechless for a moment. Then her face turned wary.

”Is it safe?” she asked.

Geralt nodded. “I trust Ciri with my life,” he said and looked at them both. “She knows what she can do, and if she says it's no trouble, I know we can trust her.” Ciri gave him a warm smile and turned back to Rosa.

”We won't go far, just to the fields outside Novigrad, and I swear we'll be back in time. I don't want to get you into trouble,” she said. Then she reached out and carefully squeezed her hand. “You can decide. I know it's a lot to ask.”

Rosa blinked and swallowed. Ciri let her hand go and took a step back. There was a short silence and then Rosa let out a breath.

”Oh, why not? It will beat being stuck here at any rate,” she huffed. “What do I have to do?”

Ciri beamed and gestured for them to stand closer. “Just hold my hand tightly. It might feel unpleasant, but I promise you it's much safer than traveling by a portal,” she said and winked at Geralt, who in turn rolled his eyes at her.

Rosa took Ciri's offered hand, still looking apprehensive. There was also a spark of excitement in her eyes, which Geralt recognized from earlier meetings. It was very alike some expressions Ciri wore, he thought as the bright white light flashed, and he felt himself whisked through space and time.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the city walls loom some way to his left. Farcorners' rooftops were visible through a small cluster of trees.

Rosa gasped and whirled around. Her face seemed awed.

”That was amazing,” she breathed as she turned to look at Ciri. She bit her lip and looked almost sheepish.

”Thanks. At least you don't moan about the discomfort like some old men like to do,” she told her and nodded towards Geralt. Rosa stifled a giggle, and Geralt feigned being deeply wounded by the comment. In truth, he was glad to see Rosa opening up. He hadn't realized how subdued she had been until she was gaining back her familiar bravado. It made him wonder just how var Attre was treating his daughters.

The lessons went much the same way as the previous one. The only difference was that all of them seemed to breath more easily when they were outdoors. Ciri looked happy to breath fresh air, and Rosa's smiles became much more genuine as they sparred. Geralt took turns fighting them both, working with them individually, and finally went two-to-one against them both. When he was not using his signs and sticking to normal human speed, Ciri and Rosa were a good match to him.

He was just about to call for a break when a feeling of alarm hit him. It was urgent, and he felt someone calling to him. He almost stumbled as he realized it was the bond.

Ciri saw his expression and she dropped her sword as she ran to him.

”What is it?” she asked.

Geralt blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what he was feeling. Regis was calling to him, pleading him to come. A thought about Dettlaff floated to him and he drew in a breath.

”I need to go. Something's happening,” he said, looking at Ciri pointedly.

”Is Regis okay?” she hissed. Geralt was suddenly aware of Rosa standing just a few feet away, looking at them in wonder. The bond tugged more forcefully, and now there was a taste of distress accompanying it.

”Yeah, but he's found something,” Geralt muttered under his breath. He closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated on the bond. A picture came to him, and he recognized the place.

”I need to get to Temple Isle, he's waiting for me. Something's wrong,” he said.

Ciri nodded and turned to Rosa.

”Rosa, please come with me. Something's happening and we need to go,” she explained quickly. Geralt half-anticipated the woman to protest, to tell them she needed to get back home before her father realized she was missing, but she was looking at Geralt with keen eyes.

”I'm coming,” she said and grasped Ciri by the hand. Ciri turned back to Geralt. “Where to?”

”The stairs going down from the Elector's Square,” Geralt said. He wasn't entirely sure how he knew, but he was certain where he needed to go. Ciri's magic blazed and he closed his eyes.

Regis jumped when they blinked into existence a short distance from him. He was by Geralt's side in an instant, only then realizing Rosa was there as well. His eyes widened.

”Oh, miss var Attre,” he said. “Forgive my manners.”

Rosa waved a hand at him, unconcerned with formalities. “Don't mind me.”

Regis turned back to Geralt. “He found something and went to investigate. We must go after him.” Geralt nodded. “Lead the way.” He thanked every deity he could come up with that he'd had his swords with him today. The light cat school armor wasn't his first choice when he was walking into danger, but it beat wearing formal tunics.

Regis led him through the little alleys that surrounded the houses, finally coming to a stop. The paved street ended into a waist-high wall, behind which Geralt could see a short drop to a wide ledge. He knew it it lead to a narrow mouth of a tunnel; he had once explored these parts of the Temple Isle. He glanced back and was surprised to see Ciri and Rosa had followed them.

”Go back,” he said. “You're not coming with.”

Ciri scowled. “Like hell-” she begun, but Geralt shook his head.

”You're not wearing armor, and you only have a training sword. Besides, Rosa needs to get back.”

Rosa folded her arms. “Hey, how about you focus on the mission now. I don't give a shit about my father throwing a fit,” she said evenly. She turned her head towards Ciri. “We could wait outside?”

Ciri looked unhappy about the whole thing, but finally she nodded. They climbed onto the ledge. Regis walked briskly to the tunnel and peeked in. ”He went this way,” he muttered to Geralt. The witcher could sense his agitation, and knew it was because he needed to stick to his human form as long as Rosa could see him.

Geralt turned back once more. “You're staying here,” he said to Ciri and Rosa again. “Don't follow us.” He didn't wait for an answer, and ducked into the tunnel after Regis. The air immediately became cool and moist. Geralt scrambled after Regis until the ceiling became high enough for him to stand up straight again. The walls were covered in bioluminescent lichen, as he remembered they would be.

The vampire was crouching down a short distance from him, inspecting the ground. He looked up when Geralt crept next to him.

”Something's not right,” he whispered. “I have a bad feeling, and it reminds me of the magic we sensed when we saw the abductor.”

Geralt concentrated, and realized he could feel it too. He had thought he was merely feeling worried, but he had a nasty feeling crawling up the back of his neck. It was almost physical, but so faint he had mistaken it for his own apprehension.

”Yeah, I know what you mean,” he answered. Regis stood up and extended his claws a bit.

They walked slowly and quietly. The tunnel was sloping down, and Geralt knew it would open into a bigger cavern further down. The only sounds were the drops of water dripping from the ceiling and their quiet steps. When the cave came into view, nausea hit Geralt in the gut. Regis hissed beside him.

”It's getting stronger,” Geralt muttered. He was feeling confused. This was some kind of magic he couldn't remember ever experiencing before. It didn't have any substance, merely a presence that took over him and left him feeling extremely uncomfortable.

Regis reached the bottom of the steps before him. He drew a breath.

”Dettlaff!” he whispered.

The vampire was standing at the back of the cave. When he heard Regis, he turned to look. Geralt felt relieved to see he was unharmed.

”You came,” he said quietly as they crept closer. He pointed to a blank wall. “I followed the abductor here, but they were quick. They slipped through this wall, and I can't get through.”

”You're sure?” Geralt asked and moved closer. Another wave of nausea washed over him as he did, and Dettlaff watched him closely.

”You're feeling it, too,” he said.

Geralt nodded and ran his fingers along the wall. It looked like ordinary stone, damp and rough, but something was whispering to him. He was distantly aware of Regis joining him in inspecting the stone.

”I think it's an illusion,” the vampire finally said and took a step back. In the faint light emitted by the lichen, Geralt saw his face was looking clammy.

”Are you okay?” he asked.

Regis nodded and brushed against him through the bond. “Yes. Whatever magic there is, it's working very hard to keep us away.”

Dettlaff let out an unhappy sound. “It's making me feel apprehensive,” he grumbled. “I dislike how it evokes feelings that are not my own.”

”My thoughts exactly,” Regis muttered before turning his attention back to the stone wall. “How to get through this, then?”

”Let me,” Geralt said. He reached into his pocket and dug out the Eye of Nehaleni. He felt Regis' surprise skyrocket and he shuffled closer.

”Where did you get that?” he breathed as he took in the carved symbols.

Geralt managed a smile, despite the uncomfortable feeling intensifying. “A sorceress gave it to me when I was looking for Ciri,” he said. He remembered Keira almost fondly now that he didn't have to deal with her temper any longer.

”What is it?” Dettlaff asked.

”It's the Eye of Nehaleni,” Regis told him. “It dispels illusions. A powerful artifact, and very rare. I've only heard of a few still existing.”

Geralt ignored the lecture and brought the Eye closer to the wall. He felt his amulet start to vibrate. A ripple went through the stone, confirming the hypothesis of an illusion, but nothing else happened. He frowned and stepped closer, focusing hard.

Suddenly the Eye grew very hot in his hand. He yelped, dropping it and taking a step back as the illusion crumbled and revealed a narrow passage. A waft of sour-smelling air hit him in the face, and he felt his stomach turn violently. Whatever the malevolent magic was, it was growing a much stronger. Geralt crouched down and fought to bring his rebelling stomach back under control. He felt cold sweat breaking over his skin.

”Are you alright?” Dettlaff asked as he squatted next to him. Geralt nodded. He stood back up and only then noticed his right hand was hurting like a bitch.

”Shit,” he said. He hadn't taken gloves or gauntlets with him. The Eye's markings were glaring at him, burnt into his palm.

”You should go back,” Regis mumbled as he took hold of his hand and gently inspected it. “It's your sword hand.”

”Like hell I am,” Geralt answered. He glared at Regis until the vampire let out a defeated sigh and dug out a bandage from his satchel. He tied it up with sure hands before stepping back and looking into the passage.

”I don't like this,” he said. “The magic is getting stronger.”

Geralt carefully picked the Eye of Nehaleni up and stuffed it into his pocket. It was once more cool to touch. He reminded himself to ask Yen about it later. He drew out his silver sword and nodded towards the tunnel.

”Let's go.”

The tunnel was so narrow that they needed to go single-file. Somehow Geralt ended up in the middle, and only after a couple of minutes did he realize it was probably intentional. The thought should have amused him, but by then he was fighting so hard against the magic he barely noticed.

It was easily one of the most unpleasant feelings he had ever experienced. He felt doubt and despair trying to creep into his head, foreign and insidious. He struggled to keep his head together, but noticed himself slipping more and more the further down they went.

The air got colder, and the glowing lichen became scarce. When the last source of light disappeared, he dug out a cat potion and chugged it down. His stomach cramped and tried to expel its contents, but somehow he fought it down.

In the silence that followed them, he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and almost jumped. When he whirled around he was met with worried eyes that seemed to glow in the gloom.

”You're not well,” Dettlaff whispered. His clear eyes were flicking over his features. “This is affecting you much more strongly than us.”

”I'll manage,” Geralt said, oddly touched by the concern. Dettlaff looked unhappy, but didn't push the point. They continued onward, Regis leading the way and occasionally casting glances over his shoulder to see how they were doing. Geralt kept trying to reach him through their bond, but it was being buried under the incoherent, dull roar of the magic surrounding them.

He was brought back into the present moment when he saw the passageway ended and opened into a bigger cavern. He saw Regis' claws extending even before he could see what was in it. He could sense they were no longer alone.

The cave into which they walked was big, but the energy coursing through it made it feel suffocating. A few torches were burning on the walls, but otherwise it had every appearance of being a hollow carved into the rock by nature. A hooded figure was standing at the middle, its back towards them. The robes had a sun emblem on them, but it was one he had never seen before: black and red, struck in half. Geralt gripped his sword and ignored the sting of the burns.

”Who are you?” he called out. Bile rose into his throat.

The figure turned slowly, and Geralt felt his breath catch as he recognized the face. It was gaunter and filthier than he remembered, but the mad gaze in the blue eyes was unmistakably familiar.

”Pastodi?” he breathed. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

”Who is this man?” Regis asked in a low voice. Geralt tried to swallow past the nausea.

”Nathaniel Pastodi. He was a Reverend of the Church of the Eternal Fire.”

”Was?” Dettlaff asked.

”He's supposed to be in prison.”

”Ah, but there you are mistaken, witcher,” Pastodi said as he took a step closer. The hood of his cloak hid most of his face, but he was grinning vacantly. “We are not gone, as the emperor thinks.” He turned to look at Regis and Dettlaff, who had by now both abandoned their human guises. “I see you continue associating with monsters, Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt scoffed, and his sword twitched. “Look who's speaking. Last time I saw you, you were about to burn a woman alive.”

Pastodi made a sound that could've been a laugh. “Filth and depravity. I was only doing the world a service. But...” he said in a satisfied tone, trailing off for a second before continuing. “It doesn't matter. Soon it will all be cleansed, and the Holy Fire will burn bright once more.”

”So they are kidnapping the kids? What are they after?” Geralt bit out.

Pastodi laughed again. “Do you take me for a fool? I will not tell you. You are known to meddle, and I need to ensure you will cease to do so.”

The reverend dug his hand into his pocket, and Dettlaff let out a vicious growl. The man stilled, looking at the vampires with narrowed eyes. “Monsters from the deepest abyss, masquerading as humans, walking amongst them and spreading their shadow over the land,” he whispered. He pulled his hand out and before any of them could react, flung something clear and glowing into the wall.

Geralt's medallion started rattling against his chest and he knew another illusion was being disbanded. The thing that looked like a crystal shattered against the jagged rocks, and they crumbled into nothing. Another cavern was revealed, and Geralt heard Regis let out a rumbling sound of warning.

Three enormous garkains were lurking in the shadows. Their milky white eyes were glowing in the dark as they scented the air. The stench of rotting flesh became overwhelming, and together with the magic infiltrating his mind Geralt felt a wave of dizziness pass over him.

”You are not the only one making use of the monsters to further a cause,” Pastodi hissed as he backed off from the vampires. “You will die here, and no one will know what happened to you.”

Dettlaff took a step forward, pushing Geralt behind him. “Be quiet,” he muttered. He then let out a series of hisses and guttural sounds, clearly attempting to communicate with the lesser vampires. A silence followed, and then the biggest of the garkains ambled towards them. It let our a tittering grumble. Dettlaff hissed.

”They are not listening to me,” he said. “I can't reach them.”

Geralt opened his mouth to say something, but the garkain that had been advancing leaped suddenly. He felt Dettlaff move to block its way and he rolled to the side, bringing his sword up to block another’s talons.

The torches were flickering, and Pastodi was laughing. “Fight, witcher!” he yelled. “You will not leave this place!”

Geralt spared a glance towards him, but then he needed to duck and roll again, when the second garkain shot towards him again. It missed him by inches, and Geralt felt its claws catch on his pauldron. Pain shot up his arm at the impact as he stood up and drove the creature back.

He was distantly aware of Regis and Dettlaff trying to get to him, to kill the other two garkains, but something was not right. Geralt managed to keep up with the vampire, but he was feeling woozy and listless. Some sort of despair was creeping into him, and he couldn't recognize the feeling as his own.

And then things happened in quick succession.

The garkain broke through his block and drove him back towards Pastodi, who let out a yell of terror as they crashed into him. Geralt felt a flash of contemptuous delight when he realized the reverend feared the garkains equally as much as them. Another gleaming crystal flew from Pastodi's hands as he fell under Geralt and the garkain. It broke against a wall, and another illusion crumbled away. Geralt didn't have time to look what was behind it, he was busy not being pierced by the garkains talons as he drove his sword into its neck.

The vampire let out a howl at the edge of his hearing range as its other front limb tore through Patodi's ribcage. Geralt had just enough presence of mind to register the garkain's eyes starting to glow before it let out another shrill howl and blasted him with the mental wave. He was instantly engulfed in something that felt like the mental equivalent of falling headfirst into cold sewage. The garkain kept pushing into his mind as he fought against the visions, trying desperately to untangle himself. A flash of sensibility at the back of his head told him this was not normal; garkains shouldn't be this strong.

Geralt wrenched himself from under the stinking creature and struggled to his feet. He turned his head towards a sound to his right, but his vision was swimming in a blur of torchlight and shadows. He had just enough time to make out a black shape hurtling towards him, and then the bond exploded inside his head.

He was hit backwards, hard, shouting in pain as he felt himself land on his right shoulder and dislocating it. His sword clattered away into the darkness, useless.

Geralt fought against the haze of pain and nausea as he opened his eyes. When he realized what he was seeing, he felt a muffled shout of horror force itself through his raw throat. Regis had flung himself between him and the other garkain. The vampire's talons were sticking through Regis' chest from where he was supporting himself over Geralt, glistening almost black with blood.

Normally Geralt wouldn't have felt so scared, but the bond was rippling madly and almost fading away. Regis' eyes were wide and _scared_ and he kept trying to talk, but no sounds came out. A trickle of blood ran down his chin.

Geralt's mind went white with rage. He reached his left hand to grasp the dislocated shoulder and pulled the joint back into its socket with a grunt. Pain flashed through him as it popped into place. He scrambled around and finally found his sword, immediately driving it through the garkain's head. The vampire let out a last gurgle; it had already been half-dead when it had tried to jump him.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Dettlaff was finishing off the third garkain. He ignored them and pushed the dead beast off Regis instead. Its claws slid out with a sickening sound, and horror threatened to overwhelm Geralt as he caught Regis. In the distance, a roar and a death rattle told him Dettlaff had disposed of the last vampire.

Regis kept staring ahead, his mouth moving. His eyes were vacant, and Geralt saw how pale he was. Dettlaff materialized next to him and bent down. He looked at Regis and then took a sniff at his wounds.

”Poison,” he growled. “We need to get him out of here, now.”

Suddenly Geralt remembered the shattered illusion. He turned his head as Dettlaff gently pried his hands off from Regis' slack form.

The illusion was forming again, covering another entrance. It was dark, but Geralt could just make out a huge, cavernous hall. A sickening glow was emanating from it, and the magic he had thought overwhelming before was so strong he finally lost the battle with his stomach. He turned away and retched, bile burning in his throat. It felt like his whole body was on fire, all the aches and pains multiplying in a way that shouldn't have been possible.

He was suddenly aware of cool hands on his face. He opened his eyes and Dettlaff's face swam into view.

”Can you stand up?” he asked. Geralt realized he had collapsed. He pushed off the ground on wobbling knees, and immediately the magic almost leveled him again.

Dettlaff's arm came around his waist. Geralt couldn't do anything but follow him, leaning half his weight on the vampire as they made their way back towards the exit. His head was spinning so badly he feared he might start puking again and never be able to stop. He saw Dettlaff had cradled Regis against his chest, and was easily holding him up. Geralt pushed his senses and managed to make out a faint heartbeat. A sound escaped him, and Dettlaff turned his eyes to him. He had returned to his human disguise.

”He's alive,” the vampire whispered as they made a turn and came into the place where the first illusion had been. Thankfully it had not reformed.

Geralt grasped for his bond with Regis. It was weak and fluttering, like Regis was somewhere far away. He tried to push gently, but despite the foreign magic's hold loosening as they climbed towards the entrance, it still left the contact stilted and brittle.

”What was that?” he coughed as Dettlaff steered them through the cave and into the second tunnel. The vampire glanced at him. He frowned.

”A poison. The like of which I haven't seen since the Conjunction. I will explain later. We need to get Regis somewhere safe.”

Geralt coughed again. The magic was dissipating slowly, although he felt like it had seeped into him like a toxin, taking a long time to flush completely out.

”The cabaret,” he said. “A friend of ours owns it. He'll help.” Dettlaff nodded.

When Geralt finally saw daylight he sighed with relief. He straggled to support his own weight and went through the low passage. He heard Dettlaff adjust his grip on Regis and follow him.

”Geralt!” Ciri gasped when he emerged, blinking against the sun. “What happened?”

Geralt shook his head. He knew he must look horrible, but his mind was occupied with getting Regis to safety. Nothing else mattered.

”Regis is hurt. We need to get him to the Chameleon,” he rasped. Ciri nodded, her eyes wide. Just as Geralt heard Dettlaff coming through he realized Rosa was standing there, just a few steps away from Ciri. He turned back towards the tunnel and suddenly remembered.

Regis had not transformed back into his human shape.

 

**IV  
**

 

Cold terror gripped Geralt as he tried to kick his mind into gear and come up with something, anything. They couldn't let Rosa see Regis in his true form. No matter how level-headed she might be, the sight of a vampire would surely send her running.

Dettlaff caught the sight of his terrified face, and somehow he seemed to understand what made Geralt look at him with such an expression. Geralt saw him close his eyes, and suddenly the familiar change washed over Regis. Geralt's mouth fell open. Dettlaff opened his eyes and gave him a tight smile.

”Later,” he muttered under his breath.

Dettlaff came out of the tunnel and straightened up. Ciri rushed to him and let out a terrified cry.

”Shit, this is bad,” she gasped. “Geralt, take him, I'll take you to the cabaret.”

”What about Rosa?” Geralt asked. Ciri turned anxious eyes to her.

Rosa looked back at her, tearing her eyes from Regis' wounds. She seemed shaken, but otherwise calm. “I'll be fine. I can meet you there.”

”I can't leave you alone,” Ciri said, the indecision tearing her voice.

Dettlaff cleared his throat. “I can accompany the young lady to the cabaret, provided she knows where it is,” he said quietly as he surrendered Regis' prone form to Geralt. Ciri turned her eyes to Dettlaff, taking him in with a frown. Geralt was reminded of what she had said about sometimes knowing things about people.

The thought of leaving Rosa to be looked after by Dettlaff would have made him laugh some months ago. Now he looked at the vampire and nodded without a moment's hesitation.

”He's a friend. I trust him,” he simply said to Ciri. “Do you know the way?” he asked Rosa, who nodded.

”Let's go,” he told Ciri, who took hold of him and Regis. The light flashed, and the next thing he knew, they were standing at the second floor landing of the cabaret. Ciri took a step back.

”Get him to bed. I'll go find Zoltan,” she whispered and dashed down the stairs.

At the end of the hallway, Geralt opened one door at random and was pleased to find it empty. He tugged the bed covers away with one hand and laid Regis down. The vampire made a soft, pained sound.

As carefully as his hands allowed, Geralt stripped off the tunic. The clothes were in shreds and covered in blood. He abandoned the shirt as a lost cause, pulled out his knife and cut Regis out of the garment. His chest had been impaled by the garkain's claws. The wounds were bleeding sluggishly, and the edges seemed swollen and inflamed. Geralt swallowed, unsure of what to do. If Regis had been exposed to a poison, what was he supposed to do?

Regis' eyelids fluttered. The bond shuddered and then it became a touch stronger. Geralt clung to it as Regis groaned and opened his eyes.

”You're safe,” he told him when Regis' eyes flickered this way and that, disoriented and confused. “Dettlaff said you were poisoned. Your wounds are not healing very well. What can I do?”

Regis swallowed thickly. “That would explain the pain,” he mumbled. His breathing was shallow and labored. His eyes closed, and Geralt felt panic stab him.

”Regis!”

The bond reached to him weakly, telling him Regis was not unconscious. He was silent for a while, and then he whispered: “Now would be a good time to see how your blood works in healing me.” He opened his eyes again and managed a weak smile. “I'm sorry we have to do it in such unpleasant circumstances.”

Geralt let out a half-hysterical laughter as he started to unbuckle his armor to allow Regis access to his neck. “Shut up, stop wasting your energy,” he told the vampire. He flung the piece of armor to the floor and wiped a hand across his neck to get the worst of the sweat and dirt off.

”You ready?” he asked as he leaned closer to Regis, bracing his body over him and carefully avoiding his wounds. The vampire nodded and brought his hand to his hair.

Regis' fangs tearing into his skin hurt equally as much as the previous time, but Geralt didn't mind. He exhaled slowly as he felt Regis draw the blood. This time there was no frantic heat coursing through him; he was burning up with fierce protectiveness that threatened to drown him completely.

Someone had hurt Regis. They had hurt his mate. They would pay, a hundred times over. The thoughts came and went in quick succession, leaving only the vicious fire that burnt away Geralt's fear. He would find whoever was responsible for this, and make them regret ever laying a hand on Regis.

Regis pulled back and collapsed back against the mattress. He sighed. When Geralt turned to look, his eyes seemed a bit less bloodshot and some color was creeping back on his face.

”That's better,” Regis whispered. His hand caressed Geralt's cheek. “How's Dettlaff?”

”He's fine, on his way here. He promised to look after Rosa when Ciri brought us here,” Geralt told him quietly.

Regis frowned. “You left Rosa with him?”

”Yes,” Geralt said, shrugging. “Why not? He's safe.”

Regis looked thoughtful, but he was clearly too tired to continue on the topic.

The door opened, and Ciri peeked through.

”How is he?” she asked as she entered with Zoltan in tow.

”Feeling like death, but thankfully somewhat removed from it,” Regis answered her. Ciri let out a broken laughter and rushed to his side. Zoltan leaned on the dresser, looking pale as he took in the damage that Regis had taken.

”You scared me to death,” Ciri told the vampire, trying to sound angry and failing. Regis gave her a smile, even as his eyelids slipped shut.

”Forgive me, Cirilla. I did what I had to,” he whispered.

Geralt felt the same protectiveness he had just felt echo back at him through the bond, and only then did he realize Regis had most likely saved his life. As he felt the vampire slip into sleep, he felt his own legs slowly give out. He allowed himself to collapse into a chair and buried his face into his hands. He was distantly aware of Ciri joining him, and a moment later her hand brushed through his hair.

”We need to get you cleaned up. You're bleeding,” she whispered. “Zoltan?”

The dwarf shook his head. “Aye. I'll get some supplies. Just a sec.”

Geralt was thankful that neither of them seemed inclined to remove him from Regis' proximity, because there was no way in hell he was leaving his mate alone right now.

When Zoltan returned, he and Ciri helped him out of the rest of his armor and cleaned the wounds. His injured shoulder was throbbing madly, but he knew from unfortunate experience that it'd heal with time.

Ciri cast an assessing eye over the clawmarks on his pauldron. “Some kind of a vampire, right?” she muttered as she wrapped a thick bandage over a smaller wound he had received when he had fallen over. Geralt felt proud of her.

”Three garkains,” he told her. “But something was not right with them. They were much stronger and faster than the ones I've ever seen, on top one of them managing to injure Regis.”

”Garkains in the city,” Ciri muttered and her eyes were cloudy with worry.

A knock on the door interrupted her.

”Come in,” Geralt said. Dettlaff opened the door. His eyes went straight to Regis and his lips pressed into a thin line.

”He's sleeping,” Geralt said. Dettlaff nodded, looking him over for a long while before turning to watch Geralt. Geralt realized he probably needed to make introductions.

”Ciri, Zoltan, this is Dettlaff van der Eretein,” he said in a quiet voice. Suddenly he realized that he had never explained to them what had come to pass after they had departed Corvo Bianco. Judging by Ciri's astonished expression and Zoltan's furiously furrowing brow, he maybe should have.

”Yes, he is the guy you think he is, but listen. He and Regis made up. He's safe,” he said urgently. He saw Dettlaff turn his piercing eyes to him. “He's here because we asked him to help. And he's doing that, helping. Without him, we would have probably never found the cavern.”

Ciri seemed to relax minutely, but she was still watching Dettlaff very closely. Zoltan looked like he was desperately missing his axe.

”I'm sorry to make your acquaintance in such unfortunate circumstances,” Dettlaff said quietly. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but I still want you to know I would never harm Regis or Geralt.”

Zoltan made a suspicious grunt, and Geralt felt a headache forming.

”He saved me and Regis today,” he sighed.

Ciri cocked her head. “I trust you Geralt, but I'd still like a proper explanation. _Later_ ,” she added when both Geralt and Dettlaff opened their mouths. “Now we need to get Regis better.”

Geralt could agree with that. He looked at Dettlaff. “You said he was poisoned. Do we need an antidote or something?”

Dettlaff managed a smile. “You've already administered the only one there is, I'm afraid,” he said. He cast a glance to the fuming dwarf before continuing. “The poison was originally used for punishment purposes, when someone harmed their pack members or the tribe. It slows down the regeneration process significantly. There's only one way to combat it.”

Geralt nodded in understanding. “Well, then we need to wait. I'll give him more blood when he wakes up.”

”You need to heal, too,” Dettlaff told him. “You're injured.”

”Nothing unusual,” Geralt shrugged and then hissed in pain when his shoulder protested the movement. He saw Ciri roll her eyes.

Suddenly she jumped to her feet. “Rosa!” she hissed in alarm. “Where's she?”

Dettlaff lifted a placating hand. “She offered to wait downstairs. She's perfectly safe, lady Cirilla.”

”I should go see her,” Ciri said. She looked at Geralt. “You know we need to go see Emhyr soon. He'll want to know about this.”

Geralt nodded and sighed. “I know. But I wanna wait 'til Regis is better.”

Ciri nodded and gave him a watery smile before departing. Zoltan scrambled to his feet. He was still looking thunderous.

”I'll go back downstairs too, and tell Dandelion to keep away,” he grumbled. He cast a dark glance at Dettlaff. “And I expect you lot to behave.”

Geralt managed a weak chuckle. “We will. I promise I'll explain everything later.”

Zoltan huffed and smiled back at him before closing the door.

In the silence that followed, Geralt fought against his instincts for all of three seconds before he crossed the room and sat down on the bed. He leaned against the headboard and buried his hand into Regis' hair. The vampire let out a small sound and seemed to settle into deeper sleep. The bond pulsed, and Geralt felt some of the crippling worry loosen its grip.

Dettlaff hadn't even blinked when Geralt had moved to sit by Regis' side. He kept looking at his sleeping friend, occasionally frowning and clearly deep in thought. Geralt stroked Regis' hair and listened to his heartbeat. It was once again steady, much slower than his own.

”He saved me, didn't he? That poison would've killed me almost right away,” Geralt finally said. He felt hollow. How many times had he almost got slashed by the claws there?

Dettlaff looked up and nodded. “That's true. Although I suspect Regis didn't know about the poison when he acted.”

”You said it's not from this world?” Geralt asked. Dettlaff nodded again, but then he seemed to pause.

”I wonder...” he muttered. Geralt let him think for a while. Finally, Dettlaff continued. “I trust Regis has explained to you that vampires subsisted on something that closely resembled human blood before the Conjunction?” he begun. Geralt made an affirmative sound. “We discovered human blood has similar effects on us only after arriving here. Before that, not one of us thought we'd be seen as anything dangerous or sinister.”

”You're thinking this poison is the same thing?” Geralt suddenly saw where he was getting at.

”Yes. It's possible that it's merely a compound sufficiently similar to the poison I'm thinking about,” Dettlaff said. “But that raises the question: who would have thought of making it?”

Geralt felt a chill run down his spine.

”That's a cheerful thought,” he muttered, and Dettlaff looked at him in question. Geralt saw his confusion. “It was a joke,” he explained weakly.

”Ah, I see. My understanding of human customs is somewhat lacking in the area of humor,” Dettlaff answered sagely.

”You're doing just fine,” Geralt sighed and settled more comfortably against Regis. “How did you manage to transform him, by the way?” he asked as the memory resurfaced.

Dettlaff smiled and looked at Regis. “You forget he's mostly made of my blood. Not enough time has passed for him to have completely reformed into his old self.”

”So... You can do stuff like that? Influence the way he looks?” Geralt said hesitantly.

”To an extent, yes. But I'd never do it without his permission,” Dettlaff said levelly. “And, given enough time, the effect will vane.”

”Oh. Alright. Thank you, anyway. You saved us from big trouble back at the cave,” Geralt answered. Dettlaff turned to look at him, his eyes very bright.

”You said you trust me,” he said quietly after a moment's silence.

Geralt felt a touch uncomfortable, but he guessed he owed the vampire an explanation. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

Dettlaff frowned. “Why?”

Given that Geralt knew he would likely survive this easier if he was brutally honest, he decided to do just that. ”Some part of it comes from Regis, I guess,” he begun. “He told me that he trusts you completely, and that it's getting transferred over to me.”

Dettlaff smiled. “It's possible,” he remarked.

”But you did help us today. And you've done nothing to harm me after we sorted out the business in Beauclair,” Geralt forced himself to continue. “So... I'm at least beginning to trust you. Besides, you told me you consider me to be your pack. I know how much that means.”

Dettlaff looked down and fiddled with his torn sleeve for a moment.

”It's true,” he finally answered, so quietly that Geralt almost missed it. For a moment the witcher could see exactly how deeply Syanna had hurt Dettlaff when she had abandoned him and used him. The thought made him feel a confusing mixture of pity and anger.

”Not to get too maudlin, but you're a friend,” Geralt said in an attempt to lighten the mood. It was true, so he could say it aloud. He still wasn't sure how he felt about being pack with Dettlaff, but that could wait.

”Friend?” the vampire asked and looked at him.

And just like that Geralt was thrown back many years. For a while he saw another vampire looking at him with the same happy wonder, uttering the word with similar astonishment. He blinked and swallowed.

”Yeah.”

The moment was broken by angry shouts issuing from downstairs. Geralt's head whipped around as he listened. His stomach dropped. ”Oh, crap,” he muttered. He recognized the ambassador's voice.

”If you need to go, I'll keep an eye on Regis,” Dettlaff said. He was clearly listening to the argument as well.

”I'll be right back,” Geralt told him as he slipped off the bed. He threw on his shirt and ran downstairs, only realizing the cloth was kind of bloody when he burst into the main room. Nobody noticed him.

Ambassador var Attre was standing at the door. He looked livid, and he was shouting something undoubtedly angry to his daughter. Rosa was scowling furiously to him, standing at the middle of the room. Ciri was hovering next to her, clearly trying to get a word in, but as the two were yelling to each other in Nilfgaardian, she seemed unsure of what to say.

Zoltan, Priscilla and Dandelion were gathered by the bar, all of them looking like they desperately wished to be somewhere else.

”Hey!” Geralt shouted and pushed his way to the ambassador. “Hey, calm down,” he repeated. The man turned his gaze and his eyes were immediately drawn to his bloody shirt.

”And you!” he growled, switching to Common. “You! You were supposed to keep my daughter safe, not smuggle her out of the house by unnatural magic and put her in danger!”

Rosa stalked forward. “I was not in danger!” she shouted. “I was helping them, it was all fine, and you're making a scene-”

”Rosa, be quiet!” var Attre quipped back without looking at her. “Witcher, you have betrayed my trust, when I had given it freely, asking nothing in return! You took my daughter away despite knowing perfectly well it's not safe-”

”That's complete rubbish!” Rosa cried out. “Geralt did nothing wrong. You're grown so paranoid after mother died!”

Var Attre eyes bulged, and for a second Geralt feared he might burst a vessel. “I will not hear you speak like that!” the ambassador spat out to his daughter. “I am only protecting-”

”You're believing the drivel Francis Bedlam's been telling you! The man's wrong!” Rosa shrieked, her eyes flashing with rage. “There's nothing that indicates-”

”SILENCE!” var Attre roared at the top of his lungs, and Rosa actually closed her mouth and paled. The man took a deep, controlled breath. “You will go into the carriage. _Now_.”

Rosa was panting, but after a few seconds of glaring her shoulders slumped, and she went out the door without a word.

Var Attre turned his cold eyes to Geralt. “I will make sure the emperor knows about what you have done, _vatt'ghern_ ,” he spat at him before rushing out. Geralt heard the carriage door close with a crack.

He turned to look at Ciri. Her mouth was hanging open.

”What the fuck just happened?” he asked her.

Ciri swallowed and took a deep breath. She pushed her hair out from her eyes. “I was just talking to Rosa. We agreed it'd be best if I took her back and apologized to the ambassador. Then he suddenly burst in and started accusing me of abducting his daughter and being somehow evil.” She made a faint laugh. “It was almost scary, the way he seemed so totally unhinged for a while.”

Geralt nodded and folded his arms. “I've never seen him like that. I actually liked him,” he muttered.

”I wonder what Rosa meant about Bedlam warning var Attre?” Ciri said after a moment. “There's been very little reports of the King of Beggars in the past months, as far as I know.”

Geralt frowned. “I tried looking for him, but only managed to reach a masked mage who told me to back off and that Bedlam's not seeing anyone,” he told her.

Ciri's frown deepened. “Well, that's certainly suspicious.” She rubbed her eyes. “I've got to get back to papa. The ambassador is furious with us, and it's better if I get the chance to explain this first.”

Geralt agreed with her. “I'll come by later,” he said. A thought occurred to him. “Ciri, where's Yen? I need to speak with her.”

Ciri looked thoughtful. “She's been in Kovir for two weeks. She'll be back by next week, but I can call her on a megascope and ask her to come back sooner, if you'd like.”

Geralt felt relieved. “It would be useful. The cave we went into had some nasty magic I didn't recognize.

Ciri gave him a quick hug and then she was gone in a flash of white light. Geralt sighed and felt the last bits of energy escaping him.

Priscilla approached him. She was looking worried. “How's Regis? We heard he got hurt,” she asked cautiously.

Geralt sighed, feeling suddenly sad. “He'll be fine. Just needs to rest.” Priscilla looked at him for a second and then drew him into a hug. Geralt returned the gesture, careful not to squeeze too hard. His throat felt tight.

When Priscilla pulled back, she didn't let him go immediately. “I'm sure you did everything you could,” she said so quietly only he could hear it. “Go to him. I'll get you something to eat later, when you've rested.” Geralt managed a wan smile and nodded to Dandelion and Zoltan before returning upstairs.

Regis was still sleeping, and Dettlaff was watching over him. The vampire looked at him curiously as he entered. “Rosa's father didn't approve,” he said as Geralt reclaimed his place on the bed.

Geralt huffed a wry laugh. “That's one way to put it. I feel bad for getting her in trouble.”

Dettlaff made a noncommittal sound. “She told me she knows she'll get in trouble with him, but that she didn't care. She also said she wishes to know how Regis fares once he gets better.” Dettlaff looked uncertain. “She was very talkative, actually. I'm afraid I didn't know how to converse with her properly.”

Geralt laughed out loud, drawing a surprised look from Dettlaff. “She's like that. Wouldn't worry too much.” Geralt settled on the bed more comfortably. “Do you need to sleep? I'm sure you can stay here if you'd like,” he added as an afterthought.

Dettlaff shook his head as he stood up. “I'd rather not. I was not injured, so I'm fine. I will rest elsewhere and continue looking for the abductor.”

Geralt frowned. “Don't go back to the cave.” When Dettlaff didn't answer he sat up. “I mean it. We'll solve this together. No one gets to risk their life alone.”

Dettlaff paused at the door and looked at him peculiarly. Finally he nodded his agreement and turned into mist, vanishing from view.

***

Geralt fell asleep almost immediately. He woke up just as the sun was starting to set, and was greeted by tired black eyes. Regis smiled when he noticed Geralt was awake.

”Hey,” Geralt said as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

”Better,” Regis said and snuggled closer. “You?”

”Hungry and sore, but otherwise not complaining,” Geralt said and this time he remembered not to shrug. He squeezed Regis carefully and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Dettlaff's fine, he went somewhere else to rest. Ciri went back to report to Emhyr, and Rosa got dragged away by her father. I'm officially on his shit list, I'm afraid.”

Regis sighed. “I'm sorry to hear that. I hope Rosa's not in too much of a trouble.”

”We'll check on her later,” Geralt told him. “I think I need to go see Emhyr soon, I betting my swords he's boiling over with rage that I didn't come to him as soon as I got out of the cave.”

”Naturally,” Regis mumbled, a hint of laughter in his voice. “You'll manage, I'm sure of it.”

”I just need to know you'll be fine before I go,” Geralt said. He pulled his shirt off and threw it away. It was a lost cause anyway. “Come on.”

Regis narrowed his eyes. “I'd rather not bite you when you're injured,” he said.

”Already did,” Geralt reminded him. “And I'm much better already, whereas you still look like you'll keel over if I sneeze in your general direction.”

Regis threw him a scolding glare, but eventually he pushed himself up on his elbows and leaned to nuzzle Geralt's neck. His breath felt hot against Geralt's skin, and he shivered. Regis chuckled and then he sank his fangs into the same spot he had used earlier.

This time Geralt knew what to expect. He fought against the overwhelming flood of emotions and tried to make sense of how he felt. The heat was back, but it was accompanied the fiercely burning, loving protectiveness he had felt earlier the same day. As long as Regis drank from him, he felt absolutely certain they would stop at nothing to help each other.

Regis licked along the wound, and Geralt was once more reminded that something in his saliva seemed to speed up the healing. The touch was gentle, and it sent a stab of lust through him. His breath must have hitched, because suddenly Regis rolled over and straddled him in one smooth moment. He was licking his lips and smiling widely.

”Mm, perhaps you are feeling better already,” he muttered and leaned down to kiss Geralt. His tongue flicked against Geralt's lips, and the witcher groaned. When they parted,, he was scowling.

”Regis, you were impaled on a garkain's claws and poisoned _hours ago_ ,” he told Regis reproachfully. “You need to rest.” The vampire stared down at him, and then rolled off of him with an expression Geralt secretly classified as a pout. It was a good thing he did, because soon after there was a knock on the door, and Dandelion opened it without waiting for an answer.

”Ah, you're awake,” he said. “How are you feeling, Regis?”

”Better, thank you,” Regis said and sat up.

The bard looked at Geralt. “Ciri came back. She says the emperor is waiting for you.”

”And he won't take no for an answer,” Geralt finished for him and reluctantly got out of the bed. “Fine, I'm coming. I'll be down in a minute.”

Dandelion nodded and closed the door as he went. Geralt dejectedly fished out the ruined shirt and shrugged it back on, swearing to burn it the first chance he got. He started to strap on his armor and swords, feeling Regis' eyes on him.

”Do let me know how it goes,” the vampire said as Geralt leaned down to kiss him goodbye. “And give my love to Cirilla.”

***

Emhyr var Emreis wasn't fuming when Ciri walked back into his study with Geralt. The emperor was busy arguing with a haggard man dressed in dusty robes. The scholar was looking like he had just been dragged out of some underground sanctum in which he had spent the past fifty years with no contact to the outside world.

”But your imperial majesty, it is simply not possible!” the man wheezed just as Geralt plonked himself into one of the chairs with a tired huff. Emhyr averted his eyes from the scholar to glare at Geralt, most likely for breaching the etiquette horribly. Then he turned back.

”Master Ennio,” Emhyr articulated very slowly. “It is of no use saying it's impossible, _when it very clearly is_. I want to know what connections the Church of the Eternal Fire has to vampires.” The set of his shoulders told Geralt they had been at this for some time now.

Master Ennio wiped his brow with his sleeve and let out a wheezing breath. “In that case I don't know, your majesty,” he said desperately. “There is nothing, and I repeat, _nothing_ , in the sacred texts referencing vampires!”

Geralt rolled his eyes. Emhyr's eyes snapped back into his. “Perhaps you are able to provide him with a more accurate version of the events, then,” he said. “In any case I am very interested to hear how on earth did you manage to anger ambassador var Attre so badly that he is issuing demands to have you arrested.”

Ciri opened her mouth, but Emhyr lifted a hand to stop her. “Please, Cirilla,” he said. “I need to hear Geralt’s version of the events before I draw any conclusions.”

So Geralt explained. He did his best to emulate the calm with which Regis always managed to relay events. Not passing judgments, just recounting the story exactly as it had happened. He told Emhyr he found it suspicious that var Attre was confining his daughters into their house, but left out the several descriptive terms he associated with the man inside his own head.

He also left out Dettlaff's involvement, managing to make it sound like Regis had found the cave by himself. He saw Emhyr look at him suspiciously, but the emperor seemed to forget that bit when Geralt mentioned Nathaniel Pastodi.

The old scholar made a distressed sound when Geralt told them what had happened. “Reverend Pastodi!” he wailed. “A brash man, to be sure, but he would never-” Geralt cut in with an incredulous huff of laughter right then. He was feeling tired and hungry.

”I caught him torturing a woman with a red-hot poker,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “I should've just killed the bastard, but I needed to catch the real culprit, so I just made sure the woman got away safely.”

The old man quivered before his angry stare and fell silent. Emhyr let out a exasperated sigh.

”So, Pastodi was killed by the vampires?” he confirmed, and Geralt nodded. “What did he say before he died? Be precise.”

”He said something about everything being cleansed. And that the Holy Fire was going to burn bright again,” Geralt said as he thought back. Suddenly he blinked. “He had the sun emblem on his robes,” he continued as the memory came back to him. He had only caught a glimpse of it before Pastodi had turned around.

Emhyr's mouth tightened, but Geralt continued. “It's wasn't the Nilfgaardian sun. I've never seen one like it. It was red and black, and the sun was cut in half.”

”Are you able to draw it?” Emhyr asked and nodded towards the paper and quill on his desk. Geralt stood up and uncorked the ink. He took a while to think, trying to remember the symbol he had seen in the dark. When he finished, he was fairly certain he had managed it passably well. Emhyr picked up the paper and looked at it, then shook his head.

”I have never seen one like this, either,” he muttered. “Master Ennio?” he said and presented the scholar with the drawing.

The old man had been looking away, clearly affronted by being told off by a witcher. He took the paper with a dignified air, which then promptly disappeared as his face paled and he started to cough.

Ciri rushed to his side, looking alarmed. “Master, are you alright?” she asked. The old man nodded, waving her away. His eyes were wide and scared.

”Going by your reaction, you know what that symbol is?” Geralt said when the man had calmed down. Ennio nodded fervently, still looking at the symbol.

”I do. I just thought I'd never see it anywhere, let alone meet anyone who claimed to have seen it used,” he wheezed.

”Do clarify,” Emhyr said in a voice that suggested he was reaching the end of his patience with the scholar.

”The curse of the Black Sun,” Ennio whispered.

Geralt scoffed, and everyone's eyes turned to him. “The so-called curse is most likely a load of crap,” he said. “I've met several women who were said to be born under the curse, and I didn't get the feeling that they were cursed. Treated like lepers from birth, more like.”

Emhyr was looking straight at him. “You're referring to Sylvia Anna,” he said in a bland voice. Geralt looked at him. “Yes, but there have been others. You do know why I'm called the Butcher of Blaviken?”

”The story claims you slayed many innocents for no apparent reason,” Emhyr said pensively, his brown eyes never straying from his face. “But I'm guessing I'm about to hear the true version?”

Geralt debated whether it was worth the trouble, but ultimately he told the story. Renfri was dead, anyway. Maybe her death could do some good, after all these years.

Emhyr leaned back after he finished. He didn't seem convinced either way. Ciri kept watching him closely, and Geralt realized he had never told her the tale.

Ennio spoke up, seeming hesitant. “Master witcher, it is true I was referring to the curse as you know it, but more importantly, I meant to tell you about the cult that the curse inspired.”

Geralt resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. “You could've said so at the beginning.”

Ennio bristled again, but decided to ignore the insult. He cleared his throat. “The curse of the Black Sun, whether the actual affliction ever existed, gave birth to a few secret cults that tried to bring about the foretold end of civilization. One of the cults managed to grow powerful enough that they gained traction within the Church of the Eternal Fire.” He paused and looked momentarily ashamed. “Of course, the cult was purged years ago. There hasn't been a _whisper_ about it in decades.”

”And yet it's symbol has resurfaced along with the case of girls going missing,” Geralt finished for him before turning his eyes to Emhyr.

“So, that's as good a hypothesis as we're gonna get. Some lunatics are literally nesting right under your feet and killing children to bring forth the end times.”

He didn't mean to sound too disrespectful and knew he had failed badly, but luckily Emhyr was too preoccupied to take notice. He had turned to the scholar and ordered him to go gather every single piece of information about the cult he could find. He also informed the man that if he breathed a word about what he had heard in the room, he would be executed in some new and innovative fashion.

After Ennio had made himself scarce, Emhyr turned back towards him and Ciri. “So you're claiming this cult, which was supposedly culled decades ago, is behind the abductions?” he mused.

Geralt spread his hands as he finally sat down again. “As far as I know, yes. There was some very powerful magic in that cavern. Could be they're actually on to something. It affected me much more strongly than it did Regis, so it's most likely specifically targeting humans, too.”

”Mm,” Emhyr hummed. “We need to search the cave.”

Geralt scoffed. “Did you hear a word I just said? In ten minutes the magic made me almost useless in a fight. It affects higher vampires, too. You're just gonna get a troop of soldiers killed.”

”I will not be sending _soldiers_ ,” Emhyr snapped at him. “I will send mages. People who are prepared to handle these kinds of things.”

”But still, papa,” Ciri said much more calmly. “It's a big risk. If Geralt says it's dangerous, you ought to listen to him. He's seen a lot of weird stuff.”

”I'm not saying you should leave them be,” Geralt continued. “But I think we need to extremely careful.”

”I will speak with Yennefer tonight,” Ciri said. “And ask what she thinks. She'll most likely return immediately.”

”Do that,” Emhyr said to Ciri. “And let her know that if the other member of the Lodge of Sorceresses are willing to help, their presence here is requested.”

Geralt suppressed a groan at the thought of Emhyr wanting to involve the Lodge in the business. He could only imagine what Philippa Eilhart would say when she heard of a mysterious power source right under Temple Isle.

Ciri caught a glimpse of his expression, and while Emhyr's back was turned she winked at him. Geralt felt momentarily relieved.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last super-long chapter, por favor! Featuring a thousand headcanons about vampires, the elven swordsmith everyone loves, and this one scene that's totally useless plot-wise but which I wrote laughing non-stop! I sound like an infomercial!
> 
> This fic is still un-beta'd. I'm looking for a beta, actually. o_o
> 
> Some people asked whether I have a Tumblr and YES, now I do: http://merulanoir.tumblr.com/ I post a lot of fandom crap and my own babbling. NSFW is tagged etc etc. I love talking to people, so hmu if you have any prompts or thoughts or just wanna chat. <3

**I**

 

What follows is a week's worth of nothing.

Yen comes back and she hugs Geralt, tells him he's a fucking idiot for wandering into caves in light armor, and then joins Emhyr's expedition into the said cave wearing high heels and no armor whatsoever. Except they never get that far, because when they reach the mouth of the tunnel, it has collapsed. A scanning spell cast on it by a court mage reveals the tunnel is thoroughly blocked.

Geralt isn't really surprised. They got too close, and whoever is doing this is getting more careful. Dettlaff tells of three more girls going missing, but they disappear so quietly that they only hear about them days later. Investigating their homes reveals nothing.

Geralt and Regis move back into the fancy apartment as soon as Regs is better (two days, during which they stay at the cabaret, and Geralt learns so much about poetry he never wants to hear another word about internal rhymes and badly-constructed stanzas.)

”Priscilla should regain the full use of her vocal chords in some months,” Regis says as he jots something down on his notebook after breakfast. “Her singing voice is really lovely, and I think the contralto goes well with her songs. It gives them depth.”

Geralt hmm's in affirmation. He's heard Priscilla sing, but he doesn't know much about the theory of the art. When he sings, it's usually when he's drinking with his friends. He turns the page on the hundred-page report from some herald or another and fights against letting his thoughts wander. The job Emhyr saddled him with requires him to read stuff like that, and he is quickly developing a hearty dislike for the thing.

”You're not listening to a word, are you?” Regis asks right next to his ear. When Geralt turns his head the vampire pecks a kiss on his lips.

”No, sorry. What did you say?”

”I asked what you had planned on doing today,” Regis repeats and sits next to him.

Geralt tosses the report into the approximate direction of the table, glad for the distraction. “I had nothing planned. We can't go looking for the cave when you're still recovering.”

”I disagree.”

”Doesn't matter. Besides, Dettlaff's been keeping an eye out. He came by yesterday when you were meeting with Ciri, and told me there has been nothing wort mentioning for a few days. He said he's gonna go away for a few days to rest up,” Geralt says and pulls Regis closer. The vampire wriggles himself under his arm and lays his head on his chest.

”I know. I'm just feeling restless. Knowing there's a threat and not immediately doing something about it doesn't sit well with me.”

Geralt laughs. “I'm rubbing off on you.”

They stay there. Geralt tucks his nose into the dark curls and inhales Regis' smell. It calms him.

”Dettlaff managed to transform you back into your human form when you were injured,” he says suddenly. Regis nods.

”I suspected it was the case when no one mentioned Rosa running off screaming.”

Geralt chuckles. “Yeah. I didn't know he could do that. How do vampires' human forms even _work_?”

Regis twists his head around to look at him. “What do you mean?”

Geralt shrugs, thinking. “Can you just...change your appearance at will?”

Regis grins. He shifts and lays down with his head on Geralt's lap. “No. To achieve the transformation, we need to be familiar with the species we want to imitate. For example, I can't assume the shape of an elf just by thinking about it.”

”But given time, you could?” Geralt asks.

”Most likely,” Regis says. “But appearing human is more convenient. Humans are, if you forgive me, much easier to impersonate than the Elder Races.”

”So do you just choose what you want to look like?”

Regis thinks about the question for a while, and from that Geralt knows he has once again asked a question that seemed straightforward only at first glance.

”Fundamentally, no,” the vampire finally says. “We all have some degree of control over our appearance, but any drastic changes take a lot of energy. I'm not absolutely certain how our human appearance comes to be, but it is commonly believed to correspond to our natural visage.”

”But vampires don't really look anything like humans,” Geralt says hesitantly, and draws a laugh from Regis.

”True. But remember what I told you about higher vampires? We belong to the aether as much as to the physical world. Therefore, I'm speculating that my human form is simply one corporeal equivalent of my true being. My essence, if you will, or if you'd prefer a poetic term, my soul.”

Geralt tries to understand. “So... Are you saying that your human form comes from how you see yourself?”

”And how others see me, and what I just am. Some combination of those,” Regis affirms and smiles kindly up at him. “Once again you have stumbled upon a topic which is almost as much a mystery to us than it is to humans. We never needed disguises before arriving into this world, so anything regarding them is certainly not tied to our home.”

Geralt leans back and nods. “I've just been wondering how you look better and your hair is getting darker. I thought your disguise was much simpler than that.”

”Ah, but when is anything about higher vampires simple?” Regis laughs. “The outward changes are just mirroring my comprehensive state of well-being. And you can safely assume my human looks correspond closely to my vampiric ones.”

”Is it hard to maintain the illusion?” Geralt asks. His hand has found its way into Regis' hair once again, and the vampire closes his eyes as he is petted.

”It's not illusion in a sense that you think,” he says as he enjoys the attention. “It's not magic. I simply arrange my being in another way. In the beginning, it was hard. But I have spent so many decades appearing human that I have come to like it. Obviously I have never seen myself in a mirror, but a friend of mine once drew a picture of me. I think my human appearance is quite close to what I think of as myself.”

Geralt smiles. Nothing he hears is exactly new, but he is still fascinated by the topic. It should be weird; to think that Regis has two forms and he thinks both of them as essentially himself, but it just isn't. He's accustomed to having nonhumans as friends, and several of them can shapeshift one way or another. Sometimes he's almost jealous of the ability.

”I'm glad to hear you don't have to struggle to keep up the image,” he says. “It's been worrying me.”

Regis opens his eyes and smiles wider. He reaches his hand up and his claws scratch Geralt's hair. “No need to fret, my dear. Having you as a lover entails the added delight of you not being bothered by my true form. It certainly helps.”

Geralt laughs. “If by 'not bothered' you mean me finding it extremely hot, then yes, you're right.”

Regis doesn't answer, but his eyes crinkle as he smiles. Geralt feels tenderness and want brush him through the bond.

Silence lulls him into a doze. After a while Regis clears his throat.

”I've been thinking... Even if we can't go looking for the cave right now, we could do something useful.”

Geralt opens his eyes and tries to blink the sleepiness away. “Like what?” he yawns.

”We could go out. Talk to people. You know a lot of locals,” Regis explains.

Geralt thinks about the suggestion. It's not a bad idea. “Sure. I should drop off my swords to Éibhear anyway. The garkains made some nasty marks on them.”

Regis squints at him. “That's an elven name. Is he a smith?”

”Only the best swordsmith I know,” Geralt says. “I try to visit him whenever I'm around, because that guy can do some serious magic to a piece of steel.” Another thought occurs to him on the heels of the first one. “And then there's Corinne Tilly. We could go say hello.”

”Is she a craftswoman as well?”

”No. An oneiromancer. She helped me find Ciri. Maybe she could help us again.”

Regis beams at him. “As I said. Useful,” he says cheerfully.

***

Regis is glad to leave the indoors and walk around the city. He's not feeling perfectly well yet, but he's miles from the wreck he was a week ago. He can still feel the effects of the poison lingering, but with the blood Geralt keeps offering him he's making swift progress.

It's almost alarming, he thinks as they cross the Hierarch's Square and try to dodge merchants, how much more like himself he feels. And not like the reckless youth he used to be either; he feels like he is finally able to grasp a solid core within himself. It's something he has never had access to, before now.

”I still wonder what Bedlam's up to,” Geralt says in a low voice as they pass a beggar in the archway that leads to the fishmarket. “I have a feeling I'm being watched.”

”We could request Cirilla to visit Rosa and try to ask more about his father's connections to the man,” Regis muses.

Geralt grins. “Way ahead of you. She's gonna go tonight, when var Attre is in a meeting with Emhyr.” Regis laughs and shakes his head.

The day is cool and cloudy. Regis can smell the coming fall in the sea and the air. Soon the marketplaces will start filling with the late harvest apples and pears, and the people will don woolen cloaks and once more worry about snow clogging the streets. He finds himself liking the idea of winter, since the past years have passed further south.

”Are you still set on visiting Skellige after we solve this mystery?” Regis asks when they make the turn to the Glory Lane. Geralt nods.

”Why not. It'd be nice to see Cerys and Hjalmar again, see how they're doing now that Crach's gone.”

His voice is even, but Regis feels a short quiver in the bond. Geralt is still mourning his friend. Regis knows he saw the Jarl of Skellige die in the hands of Eredin, and some of his most vivid nightmares are clearly keeping the memory fresh for the time being. Regis thinks about the small shrine waiting for them at home, and how much building it had helped. Then he realizes he thought of Corvo Bianco as 'home,' and would pause to examine the thought, but his musings are interrupted when someone calls out to the witcher.

”Geralt! Good to see you!”

Regis lifts his gaze and sees a dark-haired elf wave at Geralt. He is wearing a leather apron and a bright smile. They cross the square and enter the smithy, which is set up in front of a row of houses.

Geralt grasps the elf's hand and grins. “Greetings, Éibhear. How are you?”

Éibhear nods towards the forge. “Busy, but that's only a good thing. What brings you here?”

He has a soft voice and animated blue eyes. Regis can tell he is more bulky than is common for the Aen Seidhe, but he attributes that to his profession. Geralt shrugs his swords off from his shoulder, still smiling. “I came hoping you'd fix these for me, actually. Vampires' claws left some nasty marks on the silver sword, and the steel one needs some new leather to the hilt.”

Éibhear accepts the swords with a nod. “I'll see to them at once. Can't help but feel like I still owe you.”

”Don't be stupid,” Geralt retorts. Éibhear merely smirks and then he notices Regis.

”Who is your friend?” he asks, cocking his head. The witcher turns around and his hand comes to rest on Regis' shoulder.

”His name's Regis. One of my oldest friends,” he says. He doesn't remove his hand as Regis extends his own to the elf. It's warm weight through his gambeson is good, but Regis feels a tiny bubble of confusion float inside his chest at the gesture.

”Éibhear Hattori. Nice to meet you. Any friend of Geralt's is a friend of mine,” Éibhear tells him.

”Emiel Regis. The pleasure's all mine,” Regis answers. He likes the smith. He seems a bit shy, but in a way that merely places him at the edge of room to observe others, rather than at the center of attention.

”So from what you're saying I take it humans have found your services again?” Geralt asks him.

”Oh, yes. There was a short while when I had to go into hiding at the end of the war, but after the Nilfgaardians took over the city it's been safer,” Éibhear says. Geralt frowns. His hand leaves Regis' shoulder as he leans back against a column, but he stays close to him.

”Sorry to hear that,” the witcher says. The elf waves his hand dismissively.

”As I said, it's much better now. The Nilfgaardians are actually some of my best customers.”

”So no more dumplings?” Geralt grins. Regis wonders what he means and makes a mental note to ask about it later. It seems he is once again in the presence on someone who has been helped by his lover.

”Alas, no,” Éibhear laughs. “I was quite good at it, mind you, but I like this much better.”

Regis watches the witcher and the smith exchange news, content to observe them quietly. Geralt asks him about the missing kids, but unfortunately Éibhear doesn't have anything to offer them in that regard. Regis gets the image that the elf tends to keep to himself.

Regis is intrigued by how at ease Geralt is with the elf. Usually when he meets people he doesn't know very well, there's some measure of wariness in him. Regis can only feel it because of their bond, but he's grown used to checking on it to gather clues about people. Now Geralt is calm and content, happy to talk about swords with Éibhear, and the bond is all loose waves inside Regis' head.

Regis knows Geralt has spent a lot of times with Aen Seidhe in the past. He knows he's fought alongside them and befriended many. Something tells Regis Geralt feels at home with them, in a different way than when he's with humans. As a vampire he can certainly sympathize, although his status as a nonhuman is secret, whereas Geralt can't conceal his eyes or bright white hair, much like elves can't easily hide their pointed ears.

Geralt keeps standing close to Regis, and Regis can't help enjoying it. They're basically in public, and usually when they are, they tend to keep their distance. Now it doesn't seem to matter. Geralt knows the smith can see them, and that the elf probably has picked up on something, and still he doesn't move away. Regis doesn't know why, but for some reason Geralt seems to categorize Éibhear Hattori as trustworthy in that regard.

They said their goodbyes some time after that; Éibhear promised to deliver the swords back to the witcher the following day. Geralt seemed to be in a good mood when he turned to look at Regis.

”So, we could go meet Corinne next. In fact, you might be interested in meeting her...uh, roommate.”

”Roommate?” Regis inquired as they pointed their steps into the direction he assumed was to the sorceress’ residence. “I have actually never met a competent oneiromancer before. As I understand it, theirs is the one branch of magic which rarely benefits from formal education.”

”Dunno,” Geralt answered. “I know Corinne's the real deal. She led me to find Dandelion and later helped us convince one of the Aen Elle that Eredin had killed their former king.”

”You never clarified your comment about the cohabitant,” Regis reminded him.

Geralt grinned. ”It's a surprise.”

The house was old, very old. If Regis hadn't known someone was living in it, he would have gladly bet it was uninhabited. Geralt knocked on the door, but received no answer. He listened for a while, and then tried the door. It was open, so he shrugged and entered. Regis followed him, wondering whether he was being impolite.

”Corinne?” Geralt called out. The room they had walked into was full of old furniture and, curious enough, drawings that looked like they were made by a small child. Regis had a fleeting thought that maybe Corinne had a child, when a crashing sound echoed from upstairs.

Geralt cast a glance at him and then made his way through the room, opening a door and revealing a staircase. He climbed the steps two at a time and pushed open another door. Regis followed him, only to draw a quick stop at the door when Geralt halted.

”Corinne?” he said. His voice sounded suddenly like he was trying not to laugh.

Regis heard someone scrambling to their feet and then a woman let out a surprised laugh.

”Oh! Geralt! You scared me!”

The witcher stepped into the room, and Regis saw that he had been talking to a woman with light brown hair. She was dusting off her dress and grinning abashedly.

”Good to see you,” Geralt told her. “You okay?”

Corinne flashed a smile. “Yes. I was trying to hang a portrait on the wall and walked into the table,” she explained and pointed to a toppled stand and a broken lantern. “ _Someone_ had moved it, and I have a good guess who that might've been.”

Geralt chuckled. He then gestured to Regis. “This is my friend, Emiel Regis. Regis, Corinne Tilly.”

Regis swept a bow to the sorceress, who looked him over curiously. “Nice to meet you, Regis,” she said. “I would introduce my friend, but she seems to have vanished.”

Regis looked around, but couldn't see anyone. “I was told you have someone who lives here with you,” he said questioningly.

Corinne nodded and smiled. “True. Geralt is actually responsible for introducing us.”

Suddenly Geralt squatted on the floor and peered under the bed. A wide grin spread on his lips.

”Hi, Sara. Feeling shy?”

Regis could hear a faint giggle from under the bed, and his suspicion about a child grew.

”Not shy!” a muffled voice announced. “I was merely trying to give your friend a scare!”

”Best not,” Geralt chuckled. “Come on out.”

Regis saw a small creature clamber out from under the bed. When the big, blue eyes found his, a big smile spread on his face.

”You're a godling,” he said and crouched down to her eye level. The godling, Sara, nodded enthusiastically, her flower crown bobbing up and down.

”Sure am! My name's Sara, what's yours?”

”My name is Regis,” he told the godling. “So you're the one who lives in this haunted house with lady Corinne?”

Sara laughed. “It's not haunted! I was only making sure that pompous human didn't come bother me. Geralt made sure I could stay, and then Corinne moved in with me!”

Regis glanced at Geralt, who grinned sheepishly. “It went pretty much exactly as she said.”

Sara cast a curious eye at Regis and leaned closer. Her bright blue eyes were excited, and Regis smelled her; a curious mix of wildflowers and the scent of old stone. “Say, are _you_ human?”

Regis rubbed his neck and turned to look at Corinne. The woman shrugged.

”Oh, don't worry. If you're a friend of Geralt's, I'm sure you're perfectly fine,” she said. Regis smiled at her before he turned his eyes back to Sara.

”I am not. And you're not the first godling to guess that.”

Sara looked proud. “We're talented like that. Who else have you met?”

”Her name's Marie. She lives in Toussaint, near our home,” Geralt told the godling. Sara smiled.

”Marie's so shy, isn't she?” she giggled.

”She is. But we made sure her home forest can go undisturbed,” Regis said as he stood back up.

Corinne was smiling to them.

”I am not happy to see you again, Geralt, but I'm guessing you came here for a reason?” she said and sat down on a dresser. The witcher leaned on the door frame and nodded.

”Guessed right. We could use your skills once again, if you're available.”

”You're looking for the lost children, are you?” Corinne said, suddenly turning serious.

Geralt's eyes widened fractionally. “Yes. How'd you know?”

Corinne crossed her arms and looked uneasy. Sara climbed up to sit on her lap and stroked her arm.

”I've been having horrible nightmares lately,” Corinne muttered. “About those girls, and a big cavern. Something is disrupting my dreams, and it's both foreign and powerful.”

Regis felt worry skitter along his spine. Corinne looked up to Geralt.

”And I've been seeing you in my dreams for the past two or three nights.”

”Me?” the witcher asked. He was looking worried, too.

”You,” Corinne said. “And shadows around you. I can't see their faces, but I think they are not the threat. Sometimes there is one, sometimes two.”

Regis saw Geralt's eyes flicker to him and then back to the oneiromancer.

”What happens in those dreams?” the witcher asked.

Corinne drew in on herself, and Sara pressed closer to her. The woman looked like living through the dreams was causing her physical pain.

”You enter the cavern. I don't know where it is, but it does not welcome you,” she whispered. “Therein you find those children. But there is also something else, something that is angry and very, very powerful.”

She fell silent. Regis felt something oppressive and dark loom over him. Geralt moved to crouch down in front of Corinne and Sara.

”What else?” he asked quietly. Corinne looked away and swallowed. “Please, Corinne. It could be important,” he pleaded.

She turned to look straight into Geralt's eyes. “You die,” she whispered. “You enter the cavern, but you never come out. Only those shadows remain, stuck in limbo.”

There was a long silence, broken only by faint sounds of everyday life coming from outside. Geralt stood up and went to the window. His shoulders were stiff.

Regis forced his mind back into gear. “Do you often have such dreams that reveal the future?” he asked. He was glad to notice his voice was still steady, even when his insides seemed to be roiling.

Corinne shook her head as if to clear it. “No. And they are never certain. I'm sorry if I scared you, but I felt the need to warn you.”

”No need to apologize,” Geralt grunted. He turned back towards the room. “Would you do a séance for us? We need more information about this thing. Especially about the magic.”

Corinne bit her lip and stroked Sara's hair. “I confess the idea holds no appeal to me,” she admitted. “I'm feeling scared.” She sighed and then set Sara down before standing up. She walked to Geralt and laid a hand on his shoulder. “But yes, I will help you. I'd feel terrible if my dreams came true and I didn't even try.”

They agreed to meet at their apartment in a few hours. On the way back to the Temple Isle Regis kept stealing glances to Geralt. The witcher was deep in thought, and the bond seemed muted and distant. He didn't dare disturb him.

Regis was feeling ill. The thought of losing Geralt kept replaying in his head, and terror squeezed his heart. He clamped the feelings down to avoid allowing them to bleed over the bond. Geralt had quite enough troubles without his mate losing his composure as well. The trip back to their lodgings felt like a hundred miles, and all that time Regis felt torn in two.

He knew Geralt would fight for the missing children, and some part of Regis loved him fiercely for it; he adored Geralt's unflinching devotion to save those who needed it. But another part of Regis, the one that was attached to the bond, was frozen in fear. He wanted to tell Geralt to abandon the job, leave everything be, and not risk it. He couldn't even put those feelings to words inside his mind.

When the apartment door closed behind them, Geralt stripped off his armor. His hands seemed to move with little conscious thought. When he was done he sat down on the bed and stared ahead. Regis joined him and tried to reach him through the bond.

Geralt turned his golden eyes to him and suddenly Regis found himself trapped underneath him on the bed. Geralt was kissing him, his hands framing his face and the bond was alive, so alive. Regis let out a groan as Geralt nipped at his lips, meeting his tongue with his own and pulling their bodies flush together. There was a generous amount of desperation in their actions; Regis felt like he was spilling over with emotions. His throat felt tight and the same horror kept crawling inside his belly. He couldn't lose Geralt. He couldn't. His mate, his home.

He couldn't tell how long they continued, but finally Geralt pulled back and rested his forehead against his. He let out a breath. Regis buried his hands into the white hair, holding him in place. He knew Geralt needed to say something, but he couldn't tell what it was. He braced himself to hear that Geralt would do it anyway, that he wouldn't and couldn't abandon the job.

Geralt looked him in the eye and swallowed.

”I don't wanna die,” he whispered.

Regis blinked. It took several seconds for the words to register. When they finally hit home he carefully rolled them around until he was resting against Geralt's chest. The witcher sighed and brought his arms around Regis' waist. He looked suddenly very tired.

”Just in case you thought I was going to hurl myself straight into trouble,” he added. Regis looked away, ashamed, and the action drew a wry laughter from Geralt. “I'm not suicidal, Regis.”

”No, but you're brave,” Regis answered. Geralt's fingers brushed against his face and he allowed his face to be turned back towards his lover.

”Yeah, but it doesn't mean I'll just go and let myself get killed,” Geralt said in gentle reproach. “We'll think of something. Let's hear what Corinne can come up with first. And what Ciri finds out from Rosa, eh?”

Regis sighed and laid his head against Geralt's chest. The steady beat of his heart calmed him down somewhat.

”Forgive me. I'm being selfish,” he muttered.

”Don't apologize. You're a big reason why I don't want to die,” Geralt said. He was smiling sadly. “Besides, I wanna see Ciri crowned and watch her bring Nilfgaard on its knees. And I'm curious to see whether Dandelion will ever get his shit together enough to ask Priscilla to marry his sorry ass.”

Regis huffed a laugh despite still feeling like shit. “I'm glad to hear you have so many things to live for.”

He felt Geralt reaching through the bond. Concern, love and happiness. “Besides, you heard what Corinne said. Her dreams don't always come true. The way I see it, we should be glad we got a heads up.”

Regis sighed and tried to believe in Geralt's words. He clung to the steady pumping of his heart until he slipped into sleep.

***

Geralt shook Regis awake when he saw Corinne walk up the street. He had carefully extracted himself from under the vampire when he was certain he was in deep sleep, and then just sat at the window.

He had known instantly how scared Regis got when Corinne had told them about her dreams. He had felt it rip through the bond before Regis had pulled the feeling back and locked it down. The vampire had done his best to keep his worries to himself, but Geralt didn't need the bond to know how he felt on the matter.

Regis had died for him without hesitation in Stygga, and that had been way before they had forged the bond. Geralt knew how deeply Regis cared about him. The thought of losing Geralt was hurting him viciously, and even more so because he thought Geralt would feel obligated to see the job through at any cost.

The thing was, Geralt was feeling the echo of watching Regis burn, and the thought of causing that kind of pain to his mate was out of the question. He had examined the feeling from all possible angles while he listened to Regis' breathing, and it left him puzzled. He had been fighting to stay alive for a very long time, but never before had he been so adamantly certain that he'd do whatever it took to stay alive. He abandoned the trail of thought before he reached the end of it, afraid of what he might find.

Regis woke up with a owlish blink. He rubbed his eyes as he sat up. Geralt bent down to kiss his brow.

”Corinne will be here soon. Did you sleep well?”

”Surprisingly so,” Regis said as he stifled a yawn. “I find it curious that you can move me while I'm asleep. I used to think myself a light sleeper.”

Geralt chuckled. “It depends. You always wake up when I have a nightmare. Otherwise I could probably blow something up next to you and you'd sleep happily through it.”

Regis rolled his eyes and stood up. He ran a hand through his hair and straightened his clothes. There was a knock on the door.

Geralt opened the door, and Corinne stepped in. She looked impressed.

”Well, you've certainly taken a step upwards on the lodgings,” she said as she took in the room. Geralt let out a groan. “This is all because of the contract. We'll be kicked out as soon as the job's done.” He looked around. “So, what do we need to do? Do you need to interrogate us like you did last time?”

Corinne frowned at him. “It is not interrogating,” she scolded. “I need to know your thoughts and feelings to be able to summon the right dreams.”

Geralt felt Regis' amusement ripple along the bond as they sat down. Corinne took a seat across from them and crossed her legs.

”So,” she said, looking thoughtful. “You need to find out more about this power, as well as its location. You also need more information about how to defeat it. Am I missing anything?”

Geralt shook his head. “Sounds about right. We need to know why they're kidnapping girls and come up with a way to withstand that magic.”

Corinne nodded and steepled her fingers together. She was silent for a moment.

”How did this job begin?” she asked.

”The emperor summoned both of us, and gave us a job to find out who was snatching kids,” Geralt answered.

”You and the emperor, do you know each other personally?” Corinne asked.

Geralt swallowed. “Uh, yeah.”

”How?”

Geralt sighed. He already liked this even less than last time.

”I helped him years ago. If you recall the woman I was looking for last time, Cirilla, she's my daughter by the law of surprise. She's Emhyr var Emreis' heir.”

Corinne looked him straight in the eyes. “The emperor trusts you.”

Geralt recoiled. “Hell no. As far as I know, he hates me.”

”And yet he called upon you to complete this job.”

Geralt looked away. Thankfully Corinne turned her green eyes to Regis then.

”Why were you called there with him?”

Geralt saw Regis turn to look at him. The bond was again rippling with worry and he rushed to soothe it.

”We're together,” he said quietly and shrugged. Regis relaxed and turned back towards Corinne.

”And the emperor knows I am not human. He wished to benefit of my skills to have the job completed,” Regis added in a steady voice.

Corinne looked them over and it seemed like she had understood something that had been bothering her. “You are one of the shadows in my dreams,” she said to Regis.

Regis tilted his head in agreement. “It's likely.”

Corinne hummed. She was silent for a long while. “You told you had felt this magic. What can you tell me about it?” she finally asked.

”It felt like someone was pushing thoughts and feelings into my head. Hopelessness, despair, that kind of thing. It developed into nausea, made me puke my guts out,” Geralt said.

Corinne looked to Regis, who fiddled with his sleeve before answering. “It affected me much less, but I felt something similar. I felt a fear that I would...lose control.”

”What happened then?” Corinne prodded.

”Regis threw himself in front of a monster that would've killed me,” Geralt said. For a while he wondered whether he should include Dettlaff's contribution, but apparently his skill of spinning tales was as hapless as ever.

”Who was the third person present?” Corinne asked gently.

”His name is Dettlaff. A friend,” Geralt said. “He dragged us out.”

”A friend?”

”He is like a brother to me,” Regis said with calm conviction. “He owes Geralt a great debt. They are learning to trust each other after a rocky start.”

Geralt felt a smile tug at his lips. Trust Regis to know how to explain the whole mess so that it made sense.

Corinne turned her bright eyes to him. “How do you feel about him?” Geralt raked his brain to come up with an answer. How the hell did he feel about Dettlaff?

”I'm having trouble accepting that I trust him,” he finally muttered. “But I just...know he'd never hurt me or Regis.”

Corinne looked satisfied. She threw him a mischievous smile. “See? It's not that hard to share your thoughts and feelings.”

Geralt scowled at her, to no effect. Regis brushed his hand against his, trying to look sympathetic.

Corinne pushed up from her chair and gestured towards the bed. “We can start. Please lie down.” She picked up her satchel and produced knitting needles and a ball of yarn as she sat down in the chair next to the bed.

”You had those with you the last time, too,” Geralt observed as he unlaced his boots and kicked them off.

Corinne smiled as she sorted through a tangle in the bright blue yarn. “I find it's easier to focus my mind when my hands have something to do.”

”Fair enough,” Geralt said. He closed his eyes and let out a breath.

Falling asleep when there was someone unfamiliar in the room was hard. He focused his attention on Regis' breathing and the feeling of his body next to his, inches away. He moved his left hand a bit towards him and hooked his pinky around Regis'. He felt the bond pulse with warmth, soothing him and lulling him into sleep. His last conscious thought was that it was much more pleasant to do this together with Regis.

***

_He was walking down a tunnel. The floor was uneven and slippery. His breath was coming in silent huffs, the sword felt heavy in his hand. He needed to get to the bottom of the tunnel, or something horrible would happen._

_He was alone. His heart was the only one beating in the darkness. He was encased in stone, wandering into the heart of an ancient mountain. And something was waiting for him._

_Light beckoned him forward. It was a formless glow, growing stronger and filling him with apprehension. He tried to hurry, he needed to reach the light before he forgot why he was here. He was alone, and he needed to go forward._

_He reached the bottom. A huge cavern opened up before him. A hooded figure was pointing way to him, gesturing wildly, but not a sound could be heard. He passed the figure and it tried to reach out to him. He shrugged it away and felt a stab of regret as he did._

_The light was a living thing here, pulsing from the center. Everything seemed to originate from it. He walked towards it, sword pointed forwards, his breath rattling. He felt a trickle of blood run down his chin; he had bitten himself again._

_The floor was slippery with something dark and coagulating. It stained his boots and splashed sickeningly as he walked. Small, white hands reached up to him from its depths, trying to grasp him, begging him to stop. He knew he could either stop and help, or go to the light. He stumbled when one small hand took hold of his ankle. He regained his balance and went on._

_The dark floor sloped gently downwards. At the center of the cavern lay a small creature, crumbled in on itself. The dark liquid flowed slowly towards it, swirling around it. The light was coming from the creature._

_A drop of his blood fell from his chin. The drop landed near the creature, and it shuddered. The light grew stronger, and he knew he was running out of time. He needed to decide._

_But he couldn't. He was alone._

_The creature opened its eyes. It looked straight at him, the light shining through its eyes almost blinding him. His sword was wobbling in front of him, threatening to fall from his weak fingers._

_Slowly, as if hesitantly, the thing clambered to its feet. It took a step towards him, and terror gripped him. He could tell soon the light would reach him, but he was unable to move. His shadow was creeping backwards, it was running away from him, and the creature was closing in._

_He tried to shout, call for help, but no sound came. He had lost his voice along the way, a small voice reminded him. He had given it up willingly. The creature opened its mouth wide, and the horrible light shone through it like it was merely a crack in the reality; a door through which something else was crawling through._

_Strong hands wrapped themselves around his own, bringing the shaking sword back under control. He squeezed his fingers around the hilt with the help and brought the sword up._

_Darkness. A long while of darkness. Nausea crawling at the back of his throat. The feeling of burning up._

_Metal doors open with a groan and he stumbles out. Cool hands catch him before hits the dusty stone floor. He retches, shaking uncontrollably. The back of his head is hurting like someone has thrust a dagger straight into his brain stem._

_A safe voice anchors him. Everything is hurting, but the same hands hold him close. A voice whispers to him. He doesn't understand the words, but they keep him from toppling over the edge._

***

Geralt woke up with a violent jerk. Regis' face swam into view; the vampire was holding him down.

”Geralt?” he asked. “Can you hear me?”

”Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah. What the-?”

”You were trashing,” Regis said as he sat back. Geralt drew in a breath and swept a hand across his face. He realized he was covered in cold sweat. Slowly, he dragged himself up until he was sitting cross legged on the bed.

Corinne looked at him with concern in her eyes. “You were sleeping much longer than Regis.”

Regis nodded. “I woke up almost fifteen minutes ago. And I wasn't trashing around like I was hurting.” The vampire reached to him withing the bond and Geralt accepted the sweep, pulling it into his mind and allowing it to calm him down. He felt Regis relax minutely.

”What happens now?” the vampire asked Corinne, who was putting her needles away.

”Sometimes my customers ask for my help in deciphering the dreams. Other times they want to do it by themselves,” Corinne said. “I suggest you talk your experiences through first, and come see me if you need help.”

Geralt nodded. “Thank you. What do we owe you?”

Corinne smiled. “Let's talk about that later, shall we?” she nodded to Regis, who gave her a weak smile. Then she left, closing the door soundlessly as she went.

Geralt let himself collapse back into the mattress. He was feeling like someone had taken his brain out of his head, thrown it around for a while and then put it back sideways. Regis crawled back into the bed and snuggled close.

”You go first,” Geralt said to him.

”It was like nothing I have ever experienced,” the vampire begun, sounding conflicted. “I saw the cavern you mentioned earlier. There was something living inside it, but I couldn't tell if it was a human. I only know it was dangerous.” He fell silent. His eyes went unfocused as he tried to untangle the dream.

”There was someone who kept shouting to me. They tried to tell me to keep going, and that I had to find the 'source,' whatever that was. I didn't see their face, but they kept following me. Otherwise I felt like I was very alone.”

Regis fell silent again. Geralt turned around and faced him. Outside, light was fading and the room was slowly growing dark.

”And then?”

”I reached the center, and I knew I had found the source the shape mentioned. But I didn't know what I was to do. It felt like an eternity of indecision, until you showed up.”

Geralt frowned. “Me?”

Regis gave a nod. “You. You looked like you were lost. There were hands reaching out from the darkness, trying to grab you, but you just kept going until you reached me. You had your silver sword with you, the one you gave to Éibhear Hattori today.”

”Aerondight?” Geralt muttered. He had grown attached to the blade, and getting it back from the Lady of the Lake was one of his fondest memories from the whole time he had stayed in Toussaint.

”The very same,” Regis smiled.

”Your dream went pretty much like mine thus far,” Geralt said. “What happened then?”

”Nothing. Everything became dark, and after a while I woke up.” Regis looked at him questioningly. “You saw something more?”

”Yes. It was...” Geralt trailed off, digging through the haze. The last part of his dream had been a confusing swirl of agony, and any definite visions seemed to slip away as he tried to grasp them. “There was a dark place, smelled of some chemical,” he muttered. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember and understand. “Then the doors opened and I fell out, like from a coff-” His breath hitched as he understood, sitting up abruptly.

”The Moreau lab,” he breathed, blinking rapidly.

Regis sat up, too. He looked confused. “Moreau?”

”Tomas Moreau,” Geralt said and turned to him. “He was a scientist. Yen sent me a tip of going to find his lab, because he had been studying the witcher mutations.”

Regis frowned. “You never said anything.”

Geralt rubbed his neck. “I forgot about it. I got Yen's letter right after I met you again.”

Regis' lips quirked upwards.

Geralt cleared his throat. “I remembered it much later. I went to investigate the place when I was coming back from the waterhag contract. The place was a death trap.”

”So, what did Tomas Moreau find out?” Regis asked, clearly intrigued despite feeling put out for being kept in the dark.

”It was kinda sad. His son was taken to the Griffin school and made a witcher. Moreau wanted to cure his son, make him a normal human again.”

”Going by your tone, he didn't succeed?” Regis asked.

”No. He actually kidnapped his son, but only managed the exact opposite of what he set out to do. He made Jerome Moreau much stronger and faster. He found a way to augment the witcher mutations,” Geralt told him, replaying the memories.

”Sad indeed,” Regis hummed. “So your dream involved the lab?”

Geralt nodded. He looked away. “In the dream I had entered the contraption Moreau designed to produce the mutations,” he mumbled.

When he had went there in summer, he had examined the lab carefully and then left, feeling nauseated. It had cropped up in his dreams several times afterwards, usually involving him getting forced into the machine by force.

”Your heart is beating much too fast,” Regis said quietly. He stroked Geralt's hair. “You felt distressed at the thought of going through more mutations.”

Geralt managed a nod. Regis drew him closer and continued stroking his hair.

”You should have told me.”

”I know,” Geralt said tiredly. “I just... I don't know. I guess I was scared you'd wanna go there and poke around. I'm sorry.”

Regis sighed. He pressed a kiss to his temple. ””I hope it goes without saying I would never pressure you to do anything you didn’t wish to.”

Geralt turned to him. “I know.”

There was a long silence. Geralt felt his mind dragging up very old memories, all the way from the first Trials. He was aware of his shoulders climbing upwards until Regis reached to him through the bond.

”It's alright, love,” he murmured. “You're safe.”

”I know,” he rasped. “It's just that-”

”Seeing the lab made you live through your own memories again,” Regis finished for him.

Suddenly he pulled Geralt down on the bed, arranging him against his chest and then just holding him. Geralt was distantly aware of how fast his heart was beating. He felt dizzy.

”What are you doing?” he managed to ask.

”Helping you. Let go.”

Geralt focused all his attention to breathing slowly. Regis held him tightly. He begun to hum again, and little by little Geralt felt himself relaxing again. He closed his eyes and listened to Regis' steady, calming voice until he felt a bit better.

”I can usually think about the Trials without falling apart like that,” he finally sighed. He was feeling somehow disappointed with himself. Regis tightened his hold a little and pressed his nose into the back of his neck.

”Have you ever talked about them to anyone?”

”Apart from comparing the horrors with Eskel and Lambert? Not really,” Geralt shrugged.

In the silence that followed he allowed himself to summon the memory. The first time he had been strapped down to Sad Albert had been bad, but not as bad as the second. He had always known he'd be a witcher or die during the Trials; he had been prepared for the first session.

”I guess the second time was worse. I mean, I had survived the Trials and had healed up, and then they just told me that since I handled so many mutagens they'd give me another round of experimental ones,” he blurted out.

Regis swallowed, and Geralt felt how angry he suddenly was. It felt weird to feel his anger and know it was directed to people who were long dead.

”It went exactly like you're imagining,” Geralt continued when Regis kept his silence. “I fought back, but what the hell could a skinny brat like me do against adult witchers? They strapped me down and that's pretty much the last coherent memory I have of it. I was out cold for two weeks, and in the end the biggest worry was that I almost starved to death while I was unconscious.”

”For what it's worth, I'm sorry,” Regis whispered. Geralt squeezed his hand and managed a sad smile, even when Regis couldn't see it.

”I was fucking angry for a long time, but in the end it's as I said: I wouldn't have lived through all the crap if not for those extra mutations.” He fell silent and then laughed a bit. “I was so pissed off when my hair started growing in white. Lambert kept poking fun at me for _decades_.”

He felt Regis' laugh rumble inside his chest. “You're very fond of him.”

”Hell yes,” Geralt said without hesitation. “He's a right dick most of the time, but he's my brother. And he got what was coming for him, seeing as he ended up hooking up with Keira Metz. Those two are made for each other.”

 

**II**

 

Ciri knocked and the door opened, revealing Regis. The vampire smiled to her and let her in.

”Hello, Cirilla. It's good to see you.” The room was illuminated by two oil lamps, exuding comfort and homeliness. She suspected the feeling had a lot to do with her company.

Ciri reached out to hug Regis. “It's probably no use asking you to call me Ciri, right?” she said when they parted.

Regis gave a laugh as he shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. I am a tad old-fashioned.”

”Regis means to say he picked up his manners four hundred years ago and never looked back,” Geralt called out from the sofa. He grinned to Ciri and ignored Regis' amused huff. “So, you went to see Rosa?” he asked.

Ciri sat down on the sofa and tucked her feet under her thighs. It was nice to sit like a human being for a change. The stiffness the court life demanded was giving her a permanent headache.

”I did. She didn't even look surprised when I materialized straight into her bedroom.”

Geralt laughed. “She has a level head, I'll give her that. I think I was more shocked by traveling with you than she was.”

Ciri bit her lip and smiled. “She’s doing alright, but her father is not letting her go out. She said both her and Edna are being watched carefully.”

”Did you ask about Francis Bedlam?” Regis inquired. He had seated himself into an armchair and was leaning forward.

”Yeah. Rosa said var Attre had been meeting with the king of beggars for a few times just before Nilfgaard's army took over Novigrad.” Ciri paused to think. “Rosa suspected it had something to do with maintaining the balance of power in the city.”

”Almost sounds like Henry var Attre's been meddling with the gangs while he's been here,” Geralt said.

”True. He has been the highest-ranking Nilfgaardian official in the city for quite a while,” Ciri said. “Papa says he's always been ambitious, but that he has never had enough substance to accuse him of going behind his back.”

”Most likely the ambassador's been involved in the black market or something. A lot of nobles tend to try their hand at that when they get bored,” Geralt muttered. “But what did Rosa mean about Bedlam warning the ambassador?”

”Apparently, Bedlam had come over late at night about three weeks ago. He had seemed agitated and refused to tell var Attre why he was worried. Only that something was afoot in the city and that the ambassador would do well to remember the agreement they made,” Ciri said. “Rosa said they argued for a while and then Bedlam left in a huff.”

Geralt was silent for a while and then spoke slowly. “Seems like Bedlam knows something is up. I wonder if he's somehow involved.”

Regis stroked his sideburns thoughtfully. “Could also be the king of the beggars only knows something because of his lookouts in the city.”

Ciri continued chewing on her lip. She felt Regis' black eyes turn to her.

”You're worried about Rosa,” the vampire said gently.

Ciri nodded. “I like her, and I feel bad that she's locked up in that house because she was with us at the wrong time.”

Geralt reached out and stroked her hair. “We'll make sure she gets out, Ciri.” She nodded and leaned into the familiar caress.

She was feeling conflicted about the situation. Having Geralt – and Regis – close was making her feel safe and cared for. No matter how irritated Emhyr got with her when she needed more than three seconds to understand a thing, or how much sideways glances she got from the nobles, she could count on Geralt being ready to hug her and tell her she'd make it. To top it off, Regis was a demanding teacher, but with him Ciri had been making so much progress that even her father was slowly starting to approve of her linguistic skills.

And at the same time Ciri saw how much stress the situation was causing Geralt. She knew he wasn't used to being under constant scrutiny by high-ranking people. At least not when he needed to make sure these people continued to show some semblance of respect for him. If he were allowed to be himself, to publicly present as a witcher, it could've been different.

”You're brooding.” Geralt's teasing voice pulled Ciri back from her thoughts.

”Am not.”

”Hey, I raised you. You have exactly the same face you wore when you failed to run the Gauntlet,” Geralt said, grinning knowingly. Ciri huffed and tried to suppress her smile.

A knock on the door interrupted them. Geralt frowned.

”We're not expecting anybody.”

Ciri got to her feet. “And the guards should've stopped anyone trying to get to the door,” she said quietly. Her hand went to the hilt of the dagger she wore under her tunic. It was a gift from Yen; an old, beautiful weapon of gnomish make, spells worked into the steel to make it deadly. Ciri saw Geralt grab his swords and sling the belt over his shoulder, and Regis standing up. The vampire was standing straight, his posture relaxed and sure, but Ciri could feel something rippling in the air around him. Suddenly she was certain there was no safer place for her in the entire world than this room.

Geralt went to the door and nudged it open with his feet. Ciri heard him draw in a breath.

”You,” the witcher growled.

She saw a masked man standing in the hallway. He was dressed in a black cloak, with the hood pulled deep over his eyes. She reached out a tendril of her powers, but to her astonishment couldn't touch the man. It was like he wasn't even there.

”He's a mage,” she said in warning.

The man turned his eyes to her. He slowly lifted his hands, bringing them in front of him, palms up.

”I am unarmed,” he said quietly. “I come alone. To talk.”

”Talk, then,” Geralt said gruffly.

”The things I've come to say are best not said with a door ajar,” the mage answered. He was not moving, and his posture remained open and unassuming. “I give you my word that I will not attack any of you. Lady Cirilla is able to destroy me in seconds, should I try anything.”

Geralt glanced at Ciri. She swept her eyes over the man, and then nodded.

”Come in. Remove the mask, and keep your hands visible. Any semblance of magic I sense will make you regret the day you were born.”

The mage inclined his head and closed the door behind him. He faced the room, his back to a wall. He lowered the hood and revealed his long, black hair and pointed ears. He took off the mask which had covered him from nose-down. His face was unmistakably elvish.

”You're Aen Seidhe,” Ciri said to him.

”Half-elf,” the mage said as he met her eyes. His eyes were yellowish brown and calculating. “My name is Stram Skytree.”

”You were the one who warned me to fuck off when I was looking for Bedlam,” Geralt said. He was frowning furiously. “What's a sorcerer doing working with the king of beggars now that mages are allowed back into the city?”

Stram Skytree looked down at his feet. Ciri tried to guess his age, but the man had inherited enough elven blood to make it impossible. He looked about twenty five, but she knew enough about elves not to trust that estimate in the slightest.

”I am looking for someone,” the mage finally said. He looked at Geralt and Regis. “You have been trying to untangle the mystery of the missing girls. A week ago, you found a cave, in which you uncovered one part of the secret.”

Geralt's eyes narrowed. “And how do you know about that?”

The mage met his gaze evenly. “Because I have been in charge of the network of beggars in the city for a while now. My eyes are everywhere, and your exit from the cave was observed closely.”

”What the fuck-” Geralt bit out. “What about Bedlam? Did he just give up his throne willingly?”

”Of course not,” the mage snapped. “Francis Bedlam has been dead for almost two months.”

”Dead,” Geralt repeated, clearly trying to wrap his head around what he was hearing. “How come no one's noticed?”

”I am very skilled in illusion magic,” Stram Skytree explained. “I needed to keep up the act that Francis Bedlam continues to run his criminal organization long enough to be able to benefit from it, without disclosing my aims or identity.”

”So why tell us now?” Regis asked. He was leaning on the back of the sofa, his arms crossed. “You clearly don't trust any of us, yet you sought us out on your own initiative. It suggests you need help.”

The mage nodded. “I do. But before I tell you anything more, I would like to hear what you found in that cave.”

”No fucking way,” Geralt cut in before Regis managed to open his mouth. “We almost died there, and we're not about to let some maniac get his hands on that kind of power.”

”I said I was looking for someone,” the mage said, a hint of irritation in his voice. “That person is my sister, and she is the so-called power you're referring to.”

”Your sister?” Regis repeated, looking astonished. “Do you mean that she is the one behind the abductions?”

”No,” the mage shook his head. “She is being used. She is a powerful source who was kidnapped a year ago.”

A silence followed. Finally, Regis looked to Geralt and then to Ciri. “I say we tell him what we know. Quid pro quo,” the vampire said, turning his head towards the mage. “But we will need more information than that.”

The mage nodded again. “Naturally.”

Geralt heaved a sigh. “We found a cavern. Inside we met a former reverend of the Church of the Eternal Fire. He was dressed up in robes that had this sun symbol. A scholar told us it's an emblem of a cult that believed that the curse of the black sun could be used to bring forth the end times or something.”

The mage was listening, and Ciri saw in his face that he was cataloging the information very carefully.

”The man sicced three mutated garkains on us. He ended up dying, but he also destroyed one illusion which was covering an entrance to a bigger cave. I was mostly out of it by then, but I saw this...light in there. It was pulsing, almost like it was alive.”

”Did you sense any sort of magic there?” Stram asked.

Geralt's eyebrows shot up. “Yeah. It was some nasty shit, too. Made me feel like everything was hopeless and caused me to puke my guts out in the end.”

Stram nodded and leaned against the wall. He stroked a finger along his jaw.

”So? Your turn to talk,” Geralt prompted him after a short silence.

The mage met his gaze and straightened up. “You have found out more than I expected. As I said, I'm looking for my sister. Her name is Elana, and as I said, she is a source.”

”Is she half-elven as well?” Ciri asked.

Stram nodded. “Yes. She is much younger than me, still a child. Her powers were revealed early, but with the academy in Thanedd destroyed, we had no place to take her. She was quickly growing unstable and violent when she was taken about a year ago.”

”But you have studied magic somewhere?” Regis inquired.

”In Ban Ard, for some years before departing Kaedwen to return to my family,” the mage affirmed. “Elana disappeared at the same time as the war's tide was turning and it was becoming clear that Emhyr var Emreis' troops would soon sweep over the rest of the North. We were living near Oxenfurt at the time, and I was doing my best to keep her under control. Her powers were becoming more and more dangerous, and her mental faculties were deteriorating rapidly.”

”Why didn’t you seek out the help of other mages? Surely you have some connections from your time in Ban Ard,” Regis asked, frowning suspiciously.

Stram looked almost embarrassed. “My father angered the school's rector many years ago. The rector swore a bloody oath to keep our family out of the school. It was the reason I left Kaedwen.”

”Great,” Geralt rolled his eyes. “So, what are you implying? You said your sister is being used.”

”I think the cult is trying to use her powers to cause destruction on a scale beyond imagination,” Stram said.

”But why her? Why kidnap a half-elf girl from Oxenfurt?” Geralt pressed on.

Stram squared his shoulders. “Because she was born during a solar eclipse.”

Ciri drew in a breath when she understood. “They think she is affected by the curse of the black sun.”

”Yes. I have been digging information about them for months, and I think they are somehow using the girls they are kidnapping to grow her powers and push her more deeply into insanity,” Stram said quietly. His voice was even, but Ciri could hear the concealed worry in it.

”Blood magic,” Regis whispered. Everyone's eyes turned to him. “It's a theurgy that is closely linked to necromancy. A truly execrable discipline that draws its power from spilling innocent blood.”

”Wait a minute,” Geralt said. His face was twisting into a grimace. “Are you saying they're using those kids to...”

”Feed Elana's powers, yes,” Regis said, his face growing pained. “By combining blood with magic it creates a very powerful bond. The blood of a young girl who has not yet reached puberty is considered to be the purest form of blood there is, if one counts out the blood of a royal virgin.”

”But there have been sixteen girls gone missing already,” Ciri said. She was feeling nauseated.

”That is why we need to act quickly,” Stram said. “The real problem is the magic you mentioned. The cult has invoked a very old enchantment to protect their lair. I read about it when I was still in school. It's usually referred to as 'The Rot,' because it feeds on humans' weaknesses.”

Ciri glanced to Geralt and Regis, who were exchanging a look of mutual understanding. She remembered how Geralt had said the magic had affected him much more violently than it had Regis or Dettlaff.

”Is there a way to counter the effect of the spell?” Regis asked Stram, who immediately shook his head, looking almost apologetic.

”Its power comes from the targets it attacks. I am frankly both surprised and deeply disturbed to even think that the cult's members have managed to cast it. It requires a high level of skill.”

”But if the cult's members are humans, why are they not affected?” Ciri asked. “And why is a group that essentially wants to bring back the Eternal Fire even meddling with magic and sources? I thought they hated magic and nonhumans.”

Stram looked pensive. “The cult has a prophecy they follow. It states that when the end of the world draws near, the faithful ones must loose a cleansing power upon the earth to burn away the corruption. Only after that are they able to kindle the Holy Fire again.”

”What I want to know is how the hell do you know so much about this stuff,” Geralt asked. His eyes were looking suspicious, their gold glinting dangerously in the light of the oil lamps.

Stram swallowed, and for the first time his face was truly pained. “Because my father was a member of the cult when he was young,” he choked out. “He was a human, and the cult killed him when they learned he had forsaken them and taken an elf as his wife. He'd tried to get away from the cult. We had been in hiding for many years, and just when we thought we were safe, they came for him.”

A heavy silence followed this confession. Ciri felt like her head was flowing over with all the new information.

Regis rubbed a hand across his face before he finally spoke. “So, to summarize: We now know the cult thinks they can turn a mentally unstable girl into a monster by blood magic; and that they hope to unleash her on the city when her powers have grown so much they can no longer hold her back. They have managed to shield their lair by casting a spell that feeds on human weaknesses, and have bound themselves into it so that it doesn't affect them,” he said in a tired voice.

”And these fucking maniacs think they have the whole thing under control and that the crazed girl will just stop slaughtering people when she has killed all those they have deemed as miscreants,” Geralt added. The witcher pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hate religious fanatics. They always think they're following some holy purpose and that their ends justify all means.”

Stram spread his hands. “There you have it. Now we need to act.”

Geralt looked up. “Act? As far as I know, you're half-human. The magic will cripple you if you go there. And we don't even know where they are, because the only entrance we knew of has collapsed.”

Stram rolled his eyes. “There is another entrance. My father's diary said that in the Grand Picket's bottom level there is a secret way to the heart of the Isle that they have been guarding.”

”Well, that's that taken care of,” Geralt shot back, still clearly not convinced. “But my other point stands: you can't withstand the magic.”

”The fact that you can't tolerate it doesn't mean that I can't,” Stram said with narrowed eyes. “I am only half-human. You may be a witcher, but in your core, you're human. There's a difference.”

”And I call bullshit,” Geralt said. Ciri knew he was thinking of how Regis had said it had affected him, but she knew Geralt would not disclose Regis' identity to the mage.

”You can't stop me from trying to save my sister,” Stram said in a cool voice. “I have been working for a long time to find her, and I'm not about to give up because you're trying to scare me.”

”And how do you plan to extract your sister, Stram?” Regis asked him quietly before Geralt managed to work himself up into an argument. “If they have managed to bind her into a blood spell, she may be beyond saving. Blood magic is inherently malignant, because it creates some of the strongest bindings known, and often the only way to break the spell is to kill the afflicted.”

”There must be a way to free her without harming her,” Stram said. He was returning Regis' gaze, but something told Ciri he was withholding something.

”And what if she has lost her mind? If she's violent and her powers get out of control?” Geralt prompted.

”I have taken care of Elana since she was a baby,” Stram said. “I will manage.”

”Stram, listen to me,” Ciri said and took a step towards him. The mage turned his sharp eyes to her. He seemed ready for another assault. “I'm sorry we've upset you, but you must face the possibility that Elana is beyond saving. I vow we will do everything we can to save her, but I trust Regis' knowledge on the matter.”

”I don't,” Stram said shortly.

”Yeah, big surprise,” Geralt muttered. He pinned the mage down with his angry eyes again. “Why did you visit Henry var Attre as Bedlam?”

Ciri could see Stram hadn't expected them to know about this. He was perfectly still, but his pupils dilated.

”I was trying to extract information from him,” Stram said in an expressionless voice. “The ambassador had gotten mixed up in some smuggling business with Bedlam, and I tried to keep up appearances and to see if he had any more knowledge of the city's underworld.”

”You're lying,” Geralt said in a whisper. “You forget I'm a witcher. I can smell you're getting stressed.”

Stram met his gaze, but his hands twitched. “I have no obligation to share all my information with you,” he bit out.

”No, but if you're planning on a suicide mission that could wreck half the damn city, it'd be for the best if you did,” Geralt told him.

The witcher took a step towards Stram, and suddenly the mage threw his hands up. A blinding flash erupted from him, and the room exploded.

Ciri reacted instinctively; one second she was standing on the other side of the room, the next she was in front of Geralt and had thrown up a shield. She knew Regis, who had been standing right behind Geralt, was covered by her magic too.

When the surge of magic pulled back, she dropped the shield and coughed as dust swirled around them. The entire wall facing the street had been blown away, and the half-elf mage had vanished.

Geralt let out an impressive string of swear words as he walked to the hole and peered out.

”Fuck, he's gone.” He turned around to look at Ciri. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to provoke him.”

Ciri shook her head. “He wasn't going to listen to you.”

The captain of her personal guard was in veritable hysterics when she made her way out of the destroyed room. She tried her best to calm the man, but he only kept apologizing; he was clearly certain the emperor was going to have his head for letting a rogue mage enter the room with the crown princess.

In the end Ciri gave up trying to reassure him, and allowed the guards to escort her back to the imperial building. Geralt and Regis were dragged along as well, on the pretext that their apartment had been compromised and that it was no longer safe.

She fully expected Emhyr to let her know exactly how disappointed he was with her for walking into danger like that as soon as they were dumped in front of him. During the months Ciri had spent with her biological father, she had gotten to know him fairly well.

Emhyr var Emreis was terrifyingly intelligent, and his composure was forged from iron, but even he had his limits. She wasn't afraid of him, but he made her feel wary. It had surprisingly little to do with the whole debacle of the Ithlinne's prophecy, and more with the fact that he had never shown her any of those emotions she recalled seeing on his face when they had met at Stygga all those years ago.

Ciri was sure his father had once loved her mother and most likely her as well, but she wasn't so sure about his feelings towards her now. True, he had asked Geralt to find her, but Ciri doubted whether he had done it out of any real love for her. Mostly she felt like Emhyr wanted his child to inherit the throne to avoid having it falling into the hands of house Voorhis; all else was regarded as sentiment and something to be scorned.

When Mererid received them at the doors, the chamberlain looked her over with worried eyes. Ciri managed to find a smile for him. She liked Mererid, despite herself. The man was stiff and proper, but he always spoke to her kindly and answered her questions about court etiquette so that she understood why things were done the way they were.

” _Your father is waiting for you. He is worried_ ,” Mererid told her in Nilfgaardian, his voice so low she had to strain to hear it.

” _I'm fine_ ,” she answered. On top of treating her like a human being, Mererid never mocked her for her accent.

Ciri steeled herself when the doors to Emhyr's study were opened. She knew she looked a mess; her clothes were covered in dust and bits of debris, and her braid had come undone. She still hadn't gotten around to asking Rosa to show her how they were done.

Emhyr was waiting for them. Ciri felt Geralt and Regis at her back, but his father's eyes never left her face. She walked to him and tried to smile.

”What happened?” Emhyr asked in a low voice. His face was like a mask.

”A mage got in. He had information about the missing girls,” she answered.

”How did he get past the guards?” Emhyr frowned.

”I don't know, but you need not punish them. Even my powers couldn't sense him, so there was nothing they could have done to prevent him.”

Emhyr's eyebrow crept up. He took in her disheveled appearance. Ciri swallowed.

”We talked to him. He said he is looking for his sister who is a source. The cult is keeping her somewhere, they're trying to feed her powers with blood magic until she grows too unstable to control. Their plan is to unleash her into the city.”

”Why did he attack you?” Emhyr asked.

”He thinks he can save his sister. Geralt and Regis tried to warn him off, but he got angry and blew up the room to escape,” Ciri explained.

Suddenly Emhyr reached his hand out and laid it on her shoulder. It felt warm and heavy, and Ciri's mind drew a blank.

”Are you hurt?” he asked in an almost soft voice.

She shook her head, unable to find any words. She felt the hand squeeze her shoulder gently before withdrawing. She blinked rapidly as Emhyr turned his sharp eyes to Geralt and Regis. What the hell had just happened?

”We need to continue the investigation immediately,” Emhyr said. “If this cult is planning on wreaking havoc on such a scale, we need to prepare to evacuate the city. Have you found out anything else that could point us in the right direction?”

Geralt nodded and took a step closer. Ciri saw him quickly school his features into something stern, but she knew he had seen the gesture as well.

”Yes. We know where we might go looking for the cult, but we need to make some plans. The mage's name is Stram Skytree, and he's half-elf. His father was a member of the cult before he fell in love with an elf and left it. He was apparently killed some time ago. The sister, Elana, was kidnapped about a year back, and Stram’s been looking for her since,” Geralt said.

Emhyr nodded. “What sort of plans are you referring to?”

”The cult has cast a spell that incapacitates humans. Stram claimed he could withstand it, but he didn't know it affected Regis too when we went into the cavern. We need to come up with something to counteract it.”

”You will have access to all my mages and resources,” Emhyr told him. He looked thoughtful. “I know time is of the essence and that there are people in danger, but I urge you to direct your sole focus into finding the protection against this spell. My people will make preparations for the city's safety.”

Ciri could suddenly tell that Emhyr knew Geralt sufficiently well to be able to tell the witcher was bound to worry about civilians getting caught in crossfire. In the light of that discovery, it seemed almost _kind_ that Geralt was told to leave their well-being into the hands of someone else.

Judging by Geralt's expression, he had missed this particular curiosity. His eyes were thoughtful as he and Regis were dismissed. Ciri bid them farewell and threatened to strangle both of them if they wouldn't keep her informed. The last thing she saw before the door closed was two sets of eyes, looking at her with profound amusement.

 

**III**

 

Geralt nursed a faint hope they would be allowed to go back to the cabaret not that their fancy apartment had been blown to bits. One look to the face of the captain who had been saddled with them told him to abandon that sentiment immediately. They were showed into a disgustingly lavish suite in a fancy house right next to the main building. The steward received them with a formal bow, and kept calling him 'sir,' until Geralt was ready to throw himself from the balcony.

Because oh yes, they had a balcony. Complete with several pots of beautiful flowers and a statue of a naked woman, overlooking the roofs of Temple Isle and offering a breathtaking view to the sea.

When the servant finally understood they didn't want to attend a soirée and left with a disbelieving shake of his head, Geralt sank down into a chair and buried his head into his hands.

”This just keeps getting better and better,” he mumbled. He felt exhausted. Cool hands sneaked around his neck. When he lifted his gaze, Regis was kneeling in front of him. His black eyes were kind.

”Come take a bath with me?” he asked. “We can try to form a plan while we clean up.”

Geralt let out an incredulous laughter when he saw the size of the tub sunken into the floor. Nilfgaardians had clearly renovated the building they used to house their visiting high and mighty. When he turned the faucets, steaming hot water rushed out.

”I have to admit I admire our southern neighbors for the ardor they show to their baths,” Regis mused as he rummaged through the huge wicker basket filled with oils and soaps.

”You should see the bathing houses is Nilfgaard,” Geralt said as he pulled his dusty shirt over his head. “Them alone are a good enough reason to visit the capital.”

Regis laughed as he picked a vial of oil, uncorked it and sniffed its contents. He made a satisfied hum before pouring it into the steaming water. Geralt smelled the pleasant aroma of chamomile and sandalwood, and could tell Regis had chosen the oil because it smelled like the soap they used at home. The familiar scent made him feel calmer.

The tub was so big they both fit into it with no problem. Geralt let out a satisfied groan as he sunk into the hot water. Regis came to rest against his side, and for a long while they simply sat there, both deep in thought.

Geralt's mind was whirring. He was thinking about what the mage had said. He could tell Stram cared deeply for his sister, and he understood his fervor to save her. Regis' words kept playing in his head, reminding him of the possibility that it might be too late. He was also troubled by what the mage hadn't told them; about his connections to the var Attre family. He knew they hadn’t yet discovered all about that yet.

Then his thoughts turned back into the most acute problem at hand, and he felt apprehension settle over him. He had spent the past days trying to understand what his dream of the Moreau lab had meant, and now he could tell he was standing at the precipice. The thought of going back to the lab held little appeal, but now it was accompanied by a new sense of urgency.

”Your thoughts are very loud,” Regis said and turned to look at him. Geralt smiled at him. He was trying to come up with a way to untangle the mess that was his thoughts, with little success.

Regis looked away and bit his lip. “I know you're not going to like this idea, but I'd suggest you do not accompany me and Dettlaff to the cavern,” the vampire said. His eyes were clouded with worry.

Geralt sighed and shook his head. “No way I'm letting you go without me,” he answered immediately.

”But the magic will incapacitate you, like it did last time. You heard what Stram said, it attacks humans much more strongly,” Regis said gently.

”Do you think Stram's right about being more resistant because he's half elven?” Geralt said, more to buy himself time than out of any real curiosity. He knew the damn answer, and judging by Regis' expression, the vampire agreed with him.

”I highly doubt it,” Regis muttered. “It managed to get to me and Dettlaff, and we have very little in common with humans.” He shifted and leaned his head on Geralt's shoulder. “Will you tell me now what you're planning? I'm getting worried.”

Geralt brought his arm around Regis' shoulders. He swallowed before just barging through.

“We have a way of making me less human,” he said, fighting to keep his voice even. He felt Regis stiffen, and then the vampire withdrew from the embrace and was facing him. His black eyes were suddenly both worried and angry.

”No,” he bit out. “You will not.” His hands hovered in the air, until they came to rest against his heart.

”It's the only way of making sure I can come with you,” Geralt said. He was suddenly eerily calm, his mind's constant background chatter dying away as a new certainty overtook him. It was a crazy idea, but the kind of crazy that made some inherent sense.

”We have a way, and were gonna use it,” he said when Regis didn't answer. The vampire lifted his gaze, now more angry than worried.

”I am not letting you to undergo some uncertain experimental procedure just so your sense of self-sacrifice can be satisfied,” he said in stilted tones.

Geralt took his face in his hands. “It's not self-sacrifice, Regis. _Listen to me_ ,” he said when Regis opened his mouth to protest. “Jerome Moreau was a normal witcher, and he survived the process fine. There's no reason to believe I wouldn't pull through.”

”But...” Regis said and swallowed thickly. “You didn't wish to do it. You didn't want to undergo more mutations. And if they only augment your existing ones, I don't see how they would help.”

”The procedure involves getting a mutated giant centipede albumen as the base. Moreau didn't insert anything into that, and the process builds on the compound,” Geralt explained. The more he talked about his idea, the more the new tranquility washed over him.

”You're thinking of doing exactly that,” Regis whispered, horrified. Geralt saw he didn't understand. Not yet.

”You're thinking of putting something untested into the albumen base, in the hopes that it doesn't kill you and maybe, just maybe, alters your body somehow that the magic doesn't latch onto you,” Regis rasped out. He looked so appalled at the idea that Geralt almost laughed.

”Not 'something untested,' Regis,” he said. “Your blood.”

Regis went so still that if Geralt wouldn't have been able to feel his heartbeat, he would've passed for a statue. Even the bond felt like it was frozen in place with shock.

”Think about it,” Geralt urged him gently. “We already know I have vampire genes. My body recognizes them as something I am, so there's a good chance it will accept your blood, as well. If it works, there's a good chance I gain the same resilience you and Dettlaff have against the magic.”

Regis eyes were wide. His mouth worked slowly, but no sounds came out. Geralt buried his hand into Regis' hair.

”And,” he added, much more quietly. “Maybe it'd make our bond stronger, too. I'd do it for that alone, to be honest.”

Regis slammed a hand in front of his mouth. He drew a shuddering breath, and then the bond dealt a punch straight into Geralt's gut. The veritable torrent of feeling that came through forced his eyes shut. Love, anger, want, terror, and several half-formed emotions swept through his head, and then Regis was crowding him against the tub and kissing him. His strong hands cradled Geralt's head, and he seemed determined to kiss the witcher until he couldn't remember his own name.

When Regis finally drew back to draw in a breath, his eyes seemed almost wild.

”I could never ask you to,” he whispered against Geralt's lips.

”I know,” Geralt said and to his own surprise, smiled. “But this is the one mutation I get to choose for myself. I wanna do it.”

Regis exhaled. His eyes were glistening suspiciously. “I cannot begin to fathom how your mind works, my love.”

Geralt drew him back in, and licked into his mouth. Regis grasped his hair, and the sting made him moan. The vampire pulled him closer, until Geralt simply straddled his thighs, pressing their bodies against each other.

There was something almost desperate in the way Regis gripped him, his hands coming to rest on his ass and then moving on, the fingers finding their way to his entrance. He kept kissing Geralt, his tongue sweeping over his lips and tangling with his own.

Suddenly Regis grasped him around the waist and lifted him out of the tub and onto the floor. Geralt, who was decidedly not used to being lifted to unceremoniously and with no obvious effort, let out an embarrassingly loud yelp, which caused Regis to chuckle before he reached for another vial of oil. Geralt forgot about his embarrassment immediately afterwards, when Regis' fingers breached him, searching for his prostate and finding it with practiced ease.

Regis held him down with one hand, his other hand working him open mercilessly. Geralt held his gaze, trying to keep his breathing under control.

”You're so perfect,” Regis said. He sounded almost enraptured. “You are perfect now, and you will always be perfect for me, no matter what happens,” he added just as he added a third finger, causing Geralt's back to arch off the floor.

Just as Geralt was starting to hope Regis would push in, the vampire withdrew his fingers and looked at him thoughtfully. Then a wicked smile spread on his lips.

”Up,” he said, giving his hip a small pat.

Geralt blinked, and then clambered to his feet. He had half a thought of Regis wanting to take this to bed, when the vampire grabbed him by the thighs and lifted him up effortlessly. Geralt felt his back hit the warm wall, and before his mind could wrap itself around what the fuck was happening, Regis was lowering him onto his cock.

“Oh, fuck,” Geralt breathed. He wrapped his hands around Regis' neck and kissed him, catching the edge of his fang against his lip from the wide smirk. Regis moved him slowly down, until he was buried deep inside Geralt. The witcher heard him chuckle.

”Wrap your legs around me,” he whispered. Geralt obeyed with little conscious thought. He was reeling, he had never even _thought_ he'd be on the receiving end of this position, and now getting it was making his head hazy with lust.

Regis' hands moved to his ass, and then he started to fuck Geralt, slowly, pushing his back to the wall, and showing no signs of getting tired of holding him up. It was such a blatant show of his physical power that Geralt felt his cock twitch where it was trapped between them. The fact that he could only hang on to Regis and let him set the pace was exquisite.

”Fuck, Regis,” he whispered. “You feel... I can't...”

Regis laughed into his mouth, kissing him sloppily. “I love this,” he breathed. “I love having you there, helpless to do anything but get fucked, your legs around my waist and your cock leaking against your stomach.”

Geralt moaned again, and Regis grinned wider. He picked up the pace, slamming into him and sucking lovebites on to Geralt's neck.

”You will not get off so easily today, my love,” he whispered. “I will come inside you, and then you will suck me hard again, so we can continue.” Geralt felt teeth graze his ear and he whimpered, his hands trying to find purchase as Regis gasped and shuddered, spending himself inside Geralt.

He took a few moments to breathe deeply, pressing lazy kisses to Geralt's neck, and then withdrew. He lowered the witcher gently to the floor.

”Go to bed,” he said. “I will wash, and then we'll continue. Don't touch yourself.”

Geralt collapsed on the bed. His cock was throbbing, the head glistening with precome. When Regis entered the bedroom a moment later, he looked the witcher over approvingly.

”If only I had thought to bring the manacles with me,” he thought aloud as he climbed on to the bed and straddled Geralt's chest. Geralt drew in a breath. His hips twitched, and Regis laughed. Geralt saw he was already growing hard again.

”We will make do,” Regis whispered. He pushed his thumb into Geralt's mouth, and grinned when the witcher's tongue met it. “Eager, are we?” he mused, guiding his cock closer. His hands came to hold Geralt's head in place by his hair.

Regis fucked into his mouth slowly, only an inch and then withdrawing, repeating the motion until he was fully hard. Geralt whimpered, and then Regis quickly pushed deeper. A broken moan forced itself out of his mouth as Geralt swallowed around him.

”You're doing so well,” Regis choked out. He pulled out and then repeated the motion, the head of his cock nudging the back of Geralt's throat. Geralt slid his tongue around the shaft and closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensation of being used, of being allowed to pleasure Regis.

Regis' orgasm hit him suddenly; a defeated groan tore out of his mouth and his grip slackened as he came into Geralt's mouth. When he pulled out, Geralt grinned up at him. Regis looked back, a sort of dazed happiness written all over his face.

It lasted only a handful of seconds. Regis' eyes sharpened, and he slid lower. He licked a long stripe up Geralt's cock, which was straining against his belly. Geralt moaned as Regis swallowed him down, and a few minutes later he was coming, his thighs trembling against Regis' shoulders.

Much later, when Geralt was already half-asleep, he felt Regis nuzzle his cheek.

”I hope you know I meant what I said,” the vampire whispered.

”Hm?”

”About you being perfect the way you are,” he clarified.

Geralt smiled and pulled him closer. “Yeah. But I have to do this. And I was honest when I said I'd do it just for the bond, too. Just so you know.”

He felt Regis sigh, and the bond pulsed with a fragile emotion he couldn't find a name for.

***

Convincing Ciri to take them to Toussaint and into a dilapidated lab at the bottom of a lake was, as Geralt knew it would be, hard. He spent almost an hour countering everything she could come up with. Regis, seemingly unperturbed by this, sat by and refused to utter a word. The vampire had abandoned trying to personally convince him not to follow through, but he refused to help him persuade Ciri.

Finally Ciri collapsed into a chair and buried his face into her hands.

”Fine!” she groaned. “I hate this plan, but since I have absolutely nothing better to offer, I'll help you.” Her eyes were agonized when she peered at him between her fingers. “But I'm coming with you to the lab.”

Geralt nodded. He knew he would never succeed in persuading her to stay behind. He felt bad for making his loved ones worry, but some deep part of him told him he was doing the right thing. That this was truly the only viable option they had, short of him stepping aside and letting Regis and Dettlaff enter the cavern alone.

He wondered for half a second how Ciri knew where they were going, but when he opened his eyes, he saw the familiar lab, and knew without a doubt they were in the right place. Maybe they could talk about her powers later.

Regis and Ciri took the place in with wide eyes. Geralt showed them the notes and the megascope, and together they watched all of the recordings. Then Regis leafed through the papers and the journal, and then he actually looked a bit less worried.

”It seems surprisingly sound, as far as I can tell,” he said, frowning at the metal coffin. “Moreau kept good notes, and his science is legitimate. I could probably even find out why he failed in his endeavor, if I had more time.”

”No use,” Geralt said. “There are maybe twenty, thirty witchers left, all in all. No new ones are being made anymore.”

”Still, it could be interesting,” Regis muttered. He looked around. “We will need the albumen, correct?”

”Yeah. I scouted along the tunnels when I came here last time, and there are a few pale widows living down that way,” Geralt said and pointed towards the collapsed entrance. “I could go-” he continued, but Regis was rolling his eyes.

” _I_ will go and get the ingredient, my dear. Wait here.”

He turned into mist and vanished through the opening. Geralt shrugged and sat down with Ciri. Maybe a minute passed, and then they could hear growls and hisses issuing deeper from the caves.

”Those things are nasty,” Geralt said conversationally and nodded towards the sounds. “Ever seen one? They have about a million skittering legs and snapping mandibles. They spit poison and burrow through the ground.”

Ciri shuddered. “I could fight one, if I had to,” she said and grimaced. “But I'm not complaining that Regis volunteered. I despise centipedes.”

”Same here. Have you ever seen Regis fight, though? It's fascinating.”

”I saw him at Stygga,” Ciri reminded him. “He was a bat then.”

”Oh, that's badass. But I meant his vampire form. It's totally different from anything I've ever seen. So awesome, especially when you know how he usually is.”

Ciri grinned at him. “You're so screwed,” she giggled.

Geralt was about to ask for a clarification, but then the grey mist wafted back through the hole. Regis materialized next to the table, and laid the albumen on it. He dusted off his gambeson, and managed to look like he had just popped in to a store, and not fought a twelve-foot monstrous insectoid. He glanced smugly at Geralt, who only grinned helplessly.

Yeah, maybe he was screwed.

”So, what do we need to do?” Ciri asked. She bent down and looked at the albumen with the kind of disgusted fascination Geralt usually associated with small children looking at upturned rocks and bugs.

”The process involves placing the albumen into the back of this contraption,” Regis said and gestured towards the metal coffin. “Before that, a chemical needs to be injected to cause the albumen to start breaking down. Since it's a mutated specimen, together with the chemical it will cause the reaction that results in the witcher mutations to get enhanced.”

He saw both Geralt and Ciri give him astonished looks. “It's very basic science, at the heart of it,” he said defensively. He looked at the albumen. “We will first inject it with my blood, and only then put in the chemical Moreau designed. We're hoping that together they will activate Geralt's vampiric genes.”

Ciri was starting to look like she was gearing up for a new round of protests, so Geralt started to strip away his armor, laying the pauldrons and the maille on the bench. His swords went into the same pile.

He smelled the unmistakable tang of vampire blood, and turned to see Regis holding his bleeding wrist over a small cup. The vampire gave him a reassuring smile. When he was done, he removed the claw which he had used to hold the wound open, and it closed immediately. Geralt pulled off his trousers and stepped closer to the coffin.

”It looks like that Kaedweni torturing machine,” Ciri remarked from the side. She sounded like she was going to be sick. “You know, the one with the spikes and-”

Geralt went to her and pulled her into a hug. Ciri gripped his shoulders hard.

”Please don't die,” she whispered.

”Not planning on it,” he murmured and stroked her hair.

When they parted, Regis was holding the container into which the albumen would be placed. His eyes were soft and sad. When Geralt went to him, he deposited the container on the table and pulled him close.

”You're under similar orders from me,” he said quietly.

Geralt stepped into the machine. He swallowed and fought back the crawling tension when Ciri pushed the doors closed. Through the narrow gap he could still see her green eyes, shining in the torch light.

”I'm mixing the blood now,” he heard Regis say somewhere to the side. He heard the sound of something thick being poured, and then a weird gurgling noise. “And the chemical.” A soft hiss was emitted, and an acrid smell wafted into his nostrils, making them sting.

Regis' black eyes came into view. He was frowning.

”Are you ready?”

Geralt nodded. “Yeah. Go for it.”

”If your heart stops or your lungs collapse, I'm pulling you out immediately. No matter if the experiment fails,” Regis muttered as he walked out of the view.

Geralt heard a rattling noise, and then some screeching as Regis deposited the container into its place. After a moment's silence he could hear the hissing of gas, as the chemical started to react with the albumen. He swallowed, and closed his eyes.

The first thing was the smell. It hit him like a thousand rotfiends, only it wasn't the stench of rotting flesh, but of blood and insect guts, and sharp chemicals. It invaded his senses so thoroughly he almost missed when his whole body started to burn. Geralt ground his teeth together. Sweat was breaking over his skin, and suddenly his head exploded into white noise and pain. He must have made sound, because he could distantly hear Ciri's alarmed voice. It was quickly drowned out by the sound of his own heart hammering in his chest.

He lost the track of time. If the metal coffin hadn't held him in one place, he would've collapsed into a twitching heap. He thought he could hear voices through the haze of pain and heat, but the only certain thing was the overpowering smell and the piercing pain inside his head.

And then the heat started to peter out, little by little. Geralt let out a groan. The metal doors opened, and he felt his body slump forwards. Strong hands caught him easily, and an eerie sense of déjà-vu washed over him. It was exactly like in the dream.

”Gods, his veins!” a distant voice cried out.

”Geralt? Can you hear me?” another one asked.

Darkness took him, then.

***

Geralt drifted towards consciousness. It was like wading through a swamp with a lot of hidden holes into which he sank time and again. His head was pounding and his throat felt raw and dry. He was distantly aware of a warm body next to his own, and muffled voices talking nearby.

When he finally managed to pry his left eye open, it was night. He was back at the suite, and Regis was asleep next to him. The vampire woke up the second he moved himself. He sat up and glared at Geralt.

”I hope this is the last time I have to keep watch over your failing body,” he said. The bite in his words was dampened by the obvious relief making his shoulders sag.

”How are we doing?” Geralt rasped.

Regis looked him over and then settled back against him. “Your pulse has slowed down about fifteen percent from what it was. Your pupils react to light much more than they used to. Otherwise, you seem to be healing. You've been unconscious for approximately six hours.” He was quiet for a while. “How are you feeling?” he asked almost shyly.

Geralt sank against the pillows and tried to answer. His head was feeling funny, on top of it hurting like a bitch. It felt like he'd had a previously unused part of his brain woken up.

”I feel different, but I don't know how,” he said. He concentrated for a while. “I can hear and smell more than I used to, that's for sure.”

”And the bond?” Regis asked quietly.

Geralt closed his eyes, and suddenly he felt like he was falling into something he had never known he had. It was not a physical feeling, but it was just as intense. His mind calmed, until there was nothing but the bond, and Regis, impossibly close to him in a way he had never even imagined. A scorching feeling pulsed through him before retreating, and he gasped.

When he opened his eyes, Regis was staring at him. He looked shaken.

”I take it you felt that,” Geralt asked, and Regis nodded. He blinked rapidly and exhaled, looking away.

”It seems my blood did do something,” he said with a rough voice. Geralt lifted himself to look him in the eye.

”Regis? Are you okay?” he asked, suddenly worried that he had somehow insulted Regis, or that the bond was broken. Anything to explain why Regis suddenly felt like he was holding something enormous back, trying to prevent him from seeing it.

When the vampire turned towards him, Geralt felt his feelings slam into him, and he was left breathless. It was so much, all at once, and he knew he felt everything Regis felt; it was like someone had removed a tourniquet from the bond. He suddenly understood what Regis had meant when he'd said higher vampires felt things differently from humans.

Regis kept watching him with his eyes scared and wide, and Geralt knew he expected to be pushed away. That somehow Geralt wouldn't accept this. Geralt felt for the bond and found it. He exhaled and let his own control slip away.

Now it was Regis' turn to look like he had been slapped. His eyes widened and then he closed them, relaxing and leaning against Geralt. They stayed like that, both caught in the stream, until they drifted into sleep.

***

The next morning everything seemed calmer. Regis kept stealing glances at him as they ate breakfast, and Geralt felt his wonder and joy coursing through the bond. It was almost like it had been, but the last grating edges seemed to have melted away.

Geralt bit into an apple and tried to put the feeling into words. Before, the bond had felt like something that had appeared into his head; not foreign, but not entirely natural either. Now it seemed to have melded itself into his brain, growing real roots. Using it had lost the foreign feel, and now feeling Regis’ emotions alongside his own was natural.

A sting in his upper jaw interrupted him. He made a sound and suddenly felt something hard inside his mouth. He spat it out, staring at his right canine with horrified eyes.

Regis felt the stab of alarm and rushed to him.

”What is it?” he asked. When he saw the tooth his brow furrowed. “Did it break off?”

”No,” Geralt said. He ran a frantic finger along his teeth, and when he pushed against his left upper canine, it wobbled. “Oh, shit,” he croaked. “Oh, no. No, _I'm losing my teeth_.” He couldn't tell why the thought felt so absolutely terrifying.

Regis grasped his twitching hands and pulled them away. “Let me,” he said in a steady voice. Geralt held his mouth open as Regis gently inspected his teeth. When the panic abated, he could tell only the canines had suddenly come loose. The rest of his teeth felt normal.

Regis pulled his finger away and sat down next to him. “The rest of your teeth are perfectly fine,” he said, puzzled. Suddenly his eyes flashed. “Let me see it again,” he said. Geralt opened his mouth, and Regis peered in where the tooth had come loose. He heard him draw in a breath.

”Oh, surely not,” he muttered.

”Whah ih i'?” Geralt tried to ask. Regis pulled back. He was looking extremely uncomfortable, and his fingers were twisting his sleeves. Geralt felt a new stab of panic. ”Spit it out Regis, you're not the one who's losing their teeth here!”

”You're not losing your teeth,” Regis said and looked miserable. “You're just growing a few new ones.”

Geralt stood up so quickly his chair toppled over. He all but ran to the closest mirror and tried to peer into his mouth. It was hard to see, but finally he found an angle that worked. And sure enough: in the hole where his old tooth had been, he could see something white peeking out.

”Oh hell no,” he groaned. He sank into chair, eyes going unfocused.

He tried to prevent his tongue from twiddling with the loose canine, in the vain hope that it would reattach itself, but another twinge told him that it was no use. He saw Regis look at him with a nauseated expression when he reached into his mouth and plucked the tooth out. It only stung a little. He felt the other hole, and something sharp poked his tongue.

”This is fucking great,” he groaned. ”I'm growing _fangs_.”

They were due to meet with Ciri and Dettlaff at noon. The whole morning, Geralt kept poking at the canines peeking out from his gums, managing to cut both his tongue and index finger on their sharp points. Regis kept his mouth shut for almost two hours, until Geralt yelped yet again and cursed. The vampire stood up, walked over to him and took hold of the witcher's hands.

”Show me,” he said, looking serious.

Geralt clamped his mouth shut. He was feeling extremely self-conscious all of a sudden.

Regis lifted a hand and stroked his cheek. “I know it's unpleasant,” he murmured. A rush of affection came through the bond, and Geralt exhaled. He was being stupid. Regis wouldn't make fun of him.

He opened his mouth and Regis looked in. In only a few hours, the fangs had pushed their way out from the gums, bright white and sharp. They rested snugly between the rest of his very human teeth; prominent, but not hideously obvious as far as he could tell.

Another brush of amused adoration came through, and it was followed by a stab of heat. Geralt blinked and drew back, staring at Regis.

”Oh please, don't tell me you like them,” he said desperately, half-incredulous, half ready to laugh hysterically. Regis grinned and looked away, shy and intrigued.

”I find them interesting,” he said in a voice he clearly hoped was nonchalant and missed badly, landing somewhere between laughter and arousal. Geralt rolled his eyes, but in the end, he knew he had brought this all on himself. Might as well enjoy whatever the hell he could.

He carefully ran his tongue along the sharp points, and Regis' eyes widened. Another bolt of heat tore through the bond, just as there was a knock on the door.

Geralt had heard the familiar steps on the hallway. He threw Regis a grin as he walked towards the door. The vampire stared at him and then let out a defeated groan just as he opened the door. Ciri peeked in, an eyebrow raised.

”What's wrong?” she asked, eyeing them suspiciously.

Geralt suppressed a laugh, ignoring Regis' indignant glare. “Nothing. How are you?”

”Me? I came to see whether you're still alive,” Ciri said and crossed her arms.

”I'm fine,” Geralt said and smiled, careful to keep his mouth closed as he did. Some residual sense of discomfort made him want to hide the fangs for now.

”Well, I'm glad to see that,” Ciri sighed and sat down. She plucked an apple from the basket and fiddled with it. “Is Dettlaff coming?” she asked, just as the curtains billowed and the familiar red mist wafted in through the open balcony door. Ciri followed it with wide eyes, until Dettlaff's human form materialized. The black-haired vampire swept and elegant bow to Ciri, who blinked and blushed before breaking into smile.

”Lady Cirilla,” Dettlaff said, giving her a small smile as he straightened. He turned to Geralt and Regis. He opened his mouth, but then seemed to forget what he was about to say. His eyes moved slowly over Geralt, who was suddenly feeling very awkward.

And then Dettlaff's face broke into wide, surprised smile, the like of which Geralt had never seen on his face before. Something stirred inside his mind, like a faint wisp of smoke, and he reached for it instinctively. There was a swooping feeling, and suddenly he could feel surprised delight and a reassuring, calm undercurrent which seemed to know how confused and raw he was currently feeling.

”Oh,” he said quietly.

Dettlaff gave him a searching look, still smiling, and the feeling receded, settling into a pleasant background hum. Geralt focused on it, and could tell he could easily block it out if he wanted. He let it be, for now.

Ciri was looking at them confusedly, but Regis was positively beaming, his black eyes moving between Geralt and Dettlaff. Geralt knew he must have felt that too, whatever it had been.

”Uh, hello?” Ciri finally said. Geralt turned his attention to her and shrugged, a bit embarrassed.

”Sorry. I'm still getting used to some stuff,” he said.

Ciri looked at him curiously, but apparently decided the matter could wait.

”Now that we're all here, I think we need to come up with a plan,” she said. She pushed away from the chair and paced the length of the room.

”I know I can't join you into the cavern, but there is no way I will just sit by and wait for you three to risk your lives,” she continued when she reached the window, turning back towards the rest of them. “So I'm giving each of you a medallion. Yen made them, and they will allow me to know where you are.”

”Will they work on higher vampires?” Regis asked, looking curious. Ciri dug into her pocket and flung a silver pendant across the room. Regis caught it with ease and examined it closely.

”Press your thumb against the rune,” Ciri said. Regis did, and Ciri grinned, drawing out a medallion of his own under her tunic. “Yeah, it works. I knew Yen could hack it.” She handed both Dettlaff and Geralt a medallion too, and they slipped them on.

”So, if you get into deep shit, call for me. I'll come and help. Geralt said he could withstand the magic for a while, and I'm certain my own powers can shield me for a moment. At least long enough to get you guys out of there if something goes wrong,” she explained.

Dettlaff was looking impressed. “Your powers are truly remarkable,” he said in a low voice. Ciri grinned. “Thank you. Now that I know how to use them, they're pretty useful.” Dettlaff gave her a solemn nod.

”So, what will you guys do?” she asked them in turn.

Geralt stood up. “We'll enter the cavern through the Grand Picket entrance. We will need to find Elana, and see whether we can break her free. I'm hoping that idiot brother of hers hasn't tried to go there yet.”

”What are the odds he hasn't?” Ciri asked, her mouth quirking into a humorless smile.

”Less than zero,” Geralt sighed. “In any case, we need to find and kill whoever is behind the spell.”

”Emhyr wants them taken alive and brought in for questioning,” Ciri begun, but Geralt's scowl silenced her.

”I know, but I'm not making any promises,” he said blankly. Ciri nodded, and her eyes told Geralt she'd known he'd say so.

”What if you can't break the spell?” she asked after a short silence. Geralt turned to Regis, who cleared his throat.

”We'll obviously try everything we can to save the girl and make sure the cultists never hurt anyone again,” he begun. “But should all else fail, we have a plan B.”

”Which is?” Ciri asked. She looked apprehensive at Regis' dark tone.

The vampire pursed his lips. “We will blow the cavern up,” he said. “I have been going through all the reports the court mages have made about the structure of the bedrock. With a sufficiently big charge, it's possible to collapse the entire cave, without causing the topmost layers to crumble.”

Ciri bit her lip. “Why am I not liking this plan B at all?” she whispered anxiously.

Geralt wished he'd have a similar bond with Ciri than he had with Regis. He would have liked nothing better than to reach out to her and offer her comfort. He settled for going to her and pulling her close. “We'll be careful, ok?” he said. “And we promise to call you there if we need help.”

”You've better,” Ciri muttered.

***

Ciri walked them to the Temple. She had donned her own armor. Seeing her in the familiar clothes and with her sword strapped to her back made Geralt's heart ache a bit. It was a melancholic feeling that gripped him tightly; he knew she would've been an amazing witcher, but this way she could do more good than any monster slayer could even dream of. Geralt smiled as she hugged Regis, knowing someday he would be able to let go of his own hurt. Maybe when she was crowned.

”Lady Cirilla!” A shout disturbed his thoughts.

A messenger came tearing through the columns of the temple to where they were standing. The man almost collapsed when he reached them, his chest heaving. His eyes were wide with alarm.

”What is it? Take a deep breath,” Ciri said to him, her eyes narrowing.

”A message... From his imperial majesty,” the man choked out, struggling to draw in enough oxygen. “He just received a note- from ambassador var Attre.”

A cold chill ran down Geralt's spine. A sense of foreboding washed through him.

”Rosa var Attre has been taken. There was a message,” the messenger said, finally pulling himself together. “It said that she's been taken into the cavern, and that her life will pay for that of another.”

***

Geralt felt rage coursing through him as he climbed down the endless ladder that led them into the heart of Temple Isle. Regis' mist form was floating just beneath him, and he could tell Dettlaff was somewhere close by, scouting ahead.

Stram had taken Rosa. Geralt didn't know what the mage had in mind for her, but it most certainly wasn't good. The message had been ominous enough, and Geralt knew they were in a hurry. The messenger had told Ciri var Attre had been arrested after he’d told the captain of the guard he’d had dealings with Bedlam. Geralt felt distantly curious as to just what those dealings had been.

The ladder was old, carved stone. It had been revealed under a hidden trap door, leading into darkness so deep even his enhanced eyes couldn't pierce it further than twenty feet down. He had given Ciri one last smile, and then he had been climbing down, with the vampires turning into mist and following him. The trap door's square of dim light above grew smaller and smaller as he made his way down.

He'd heard the sound of Ciri disappearing, and he knew she'd gone to the var Attre mansion. He was sure she'd manage to extract the truth of the ambassador's businesses when she arrived.

He felt Regis brush against his mind, and the stronger bond resonated with worry and warmth. He reached back instinctively. After a moment's hesitation he searched for Dettlaff, and found him. He extended an experimental thought to him, too. The answer came immediately; acceptance and encouragement. He smiled against the darkness and continued climbing.

Geralt's feet hit solid stone and he turned around. The door above him was only a small, dim spot. He drew in a breath and could smell wet stone, metal, and the two vampires. His fingers easily found the cat potion, and he swallowed the bitter liquid. As his eyes adjusted, he started to make out shapes.

They were standing in a tunnel which sloped downwards. Regis had materialized next to him, and their eyes met in the gloom. Geralt nodded towards the tunnel, and Regis nodded. Their steps made silent scraping sounds as they started to walk.

Geralt had delved into so many caves during his life he'd lost count decades ago. However, only a few had felt this deep, in the sense of being buried alive. He felt like the entire weight of the Temple Isle was resting on them, weighing them down as they made their careful way down. He kept his ears open, straining to hear sounds, but the only noise came from himself and the occasional hiss of breath when either of the vampires drew in a deeper breath to scent the air.

Very slowly Geralt became aware of a weird feeling. It felt like something was sticking to the back of his throat. It grew as they walked, and suddenly he knew they had reached the magic's sphere of influence. He kept waiting for it to take over his mind like last time, but while it grew and developed into something akin to a bad taste, it didn't overwhelm him. A tiny sigh of relief escaped him, and Regis turned to look at him.

”Do you feel it?” he whispered.

”Yeah,” Geralt nodded. “But I'm okay.”

Regis gave him a tight smile. Geralt felt another careful, friendly brush inside his head, and he knew Dettlaff had heard their words.

The feeling kept intensifying, but the nausea never came. Little by little, Geralt saw that the tunnel evened out and that he could see more than distant shapes in the darkness. The light had the same uncanny, unnatural quality as in his dream, and he swallowed. There seemed to be no apparent source to the glow, as it it was oozing from the stone itself.

They rounded a corner, and there, some hundred steps further on he could see a doorway chiseled into the stone. Beyond he saw and _felt_ the pulsing light. The sight made him uncomfortable in a way he wasn't able to explain. They crept along the tunnel, and the light grew stronger. It was very quiet, and Geralt kept wondering how much of his dream would be true.

When they were only twenty steps from the archway, a scream tore through the air. It was followed by sounds of a frantic scuffle in the cavern.

”That was Rosa,” Geralt said. He cast a glance towards Regis and they nodded. He broke into a run and drew his sword. When he passed the doorway, he had to skitter to a halt. His mind struggled to understand what he saw.

At the center of the cavern was the source of the pulsing light: a thin girl was bound to a slab of stone with dimeritium, a wide collar around her neck. She was glowing with the light, which seemed like a living thing, twisting around and through her. Her eyes were open, but they kept staring at things only she could see.

In front of the slab stood Stram, and he was holding Rosa in front of him, a knife to her throat. The woman looked like she had been dragged into the cave with force; her lip was bleeding and she had a black eye, but otherwise she looked unharmed. The mage swas shaking violently, and Geralt smelled him; sour with fear and nausea. The magic was tearing into him.

And behind the slab stood four shapes, clad in black robes. One of them was holding a small girl by her hair. The girl was crying and whimpering, clearly frozen in fear. Geralt saw scabbing wounds across her arms, and anger flashed through him.

”And now our retinue is full,” one of the cloaked figures said in a silken voice. Geralt couldn't tell whether they were man or woman, but he could feel the malicious glee in it. “For many years we have waited; slept in the darkness, knowing the day to release the holy light into the depraved world above.”

”Who the hell are you?” Geralt bit out. He took a step forward, but Stram wheeled around. His face was slick with sweat, and his eyes were bloodshot.

”Not a step further!” he croaked out. The knife pressed into Rosa's throat, and she growled, despite not being in much better condition. Geralt tried to calculate how long they had already spent inside the spell sphere, and could only conclude he needed to get both of them the hell out of here as soon as he could. He brought his sword up.

Stram's eyes boggled as he turned back towards the hooded figures. “I bring you a virgin of a royal lineage. I will give you the blood of house var Emreis, if you return my sister to me!”

He dragged Rosa next to the slab. The small girl bound to it shuddered violently. A whisper in Elder Speech issued from her mouth, but it was incoherent; Geralt thought it sounded like a poem read for children.

One of the figures crept closer. “A virgin of royal lineage, you say?” they whispered. For a second Geralt feared they would actually take the bait, but then the figure moved quickly, striking Stram across the face. The mage went down in a heap, his knife skittering away into the gloom. Rosa collapsed against the slab, a moan of pain escaping her. Her hands were shaking violently.

”What would we need the blood of a minor house, when we have a source?” the figure taunted Stram. “We have everything we need here,” they added. Before Geralt could do anything, they drew a serrated, black knife from their robes and sunk it deep into Stram's neck. The mage made a faint whimper. He tried to get up, but his movements grew sluggish as he slid to the cavern’s floor.

Rosa was trying to crawl away, but the cultist seized by her hair, dragging her upright.

”We will add your blood to the mix,” they crooned as they reached to tug the knife free from Stram's neck. Rosa's pained eyes found Geralt's, begging wordlessly, and suddenly the witcher knew what to do.

He let his intention slam into his bond with Regis and Dettlaff, and in a blink both of the vampires were gone, mist rushing towards the cultists. Red mist enveloped the one holding Rosa, and their horrified scream quickly turned into a gurgle. Rosa started to fall to the floor, but Dettlaff caught him gently.

At the same time, the person holding the little girl was swept off their feet and thrown against a wall. Geralt heard bones breaking as he ran forward. Regis took the girl and in a flash he had her deposited into Dettlaff's arms. The girl was wailing, her face glistening with sweat and tears.

”Get them out of here!” Geralt shouted to Dettlaff, who immediately pressed his finger to the pendant. Geralt saw Ciri's magic flash in the corner of his eye, but the two remaining cultists were backing off from him. He heard the crack, and his bond told him Rosa and the girl had got away. One of the cultists threw a crystal to the wall. Geralt wheeled around, and saw the milky gleam of several eyes in the darkness. He could smell the rotten flesh as the garkains clambered into the cavern.

Taller of the two cultists was inching towards the slab, a similar knife in their hand. Geralt stalked towards the robed person, sword in hand.

”Witcher,” the cultist hissed. “Servant of darkness. How dare you step foot into our sanctum?”

”You call this hole sacred?” Geralt spat out. Behind him, he could hear Dettlaff and Regis charge at the garkains, and the lesser vampires' screeches as they attacked. “You kidnap children and then torture them, only to break a half-elven girl so badly she is reduced into a weapon.”

”Lives are expendable,” the cultist said as they kept moving towards Elana. The girl was twitching, her eyes wide and unseeing. Geralt realized she was lying in a pool of blood, and the sight made him recoil. “When we ignite the Holy Fire again, all will be forgiven.”

“You’re wrong,” Geralt told him. “There’s nothing good or holy about you or your so-called purpose. If you let Elana go now, she’ll never stop killing people.”

The cultist laughed almost gently. “You misunderstand. The Holy Fire will burn through her. It is already glowing through, even a heathen like you can see it. The light brings us together.”

“How the hell are you able to control garkains? Are you working with vampires?” Geralt asked, changing subjects as his mind scrambled to come up with a solution.

“As I said, the Holy Fire bends the will of a monster and man alike,” the cultist said. Geralt saw dark eyes gleam under the hood. “We’ve had help. The issuer of the prophecy left us instructions on how to command the filth that has lived under our holy isle for decades.”

Geralt had no time to make anything of the cryptic statement when the cultist charged towards the slab. They moved quickly, pale hands slipping to the dimeritium collar. It fell apart and Elana made a choked scream, the light suddenly growing brighter. Geralt's mind was on fire as he charged towards the figure. He could feel Regis and Dettlaff fighting behind him, and his sword tore through the cultist's throat just as they sank the black knife into Elana's chest.

The power exploded out of the girl. It blinded him as it hit him with full force. He was distantly aware of getting knocked off his feet, and then he hit a wall, all air going out of him. He tried to draw in a breath, hissing at the pain. His ears were ringing, like after getting hit head-first by a bruxa wail. White lights were popping before his eyes as he scrambled to his feet. He saw his sword lying on the ground, and then he realized the cavern was fully illuminated by the feverish glow.

Elana was glowing brighter, her eyes like small fires. She was screaming, as the power lifted her from the slab. A crackle went through the air, and Geralt could smell something unnatural and electric. A distant roar was starting somewhere, it felt like it was coming from the stone around them. Currents of magic were trashing around him.

The last cultist had been thrown back close to Geralt. The witcher wrenched their hood off, and saw that it was a man, or at least had once been. His eyes were milky white, the skin pale like he had never seen the sun.

”You have lost,” he gasped. Geralt smelled blood in his breath, and he knew the man was bleeding internally from being thrown to the wall. He let out a cackle. “The source is free, and she will plunge us into the darkness. For only from the darkness can a light be born.”

”How do we stop this?” Geralt roared to him, but the man only shook his head. “She will not be stopped,” he whispered, smiling with bloody teeth.

Geralt threw the man aside, not caring when he heard him cry out in pain. Elana was screaming, and the light was growing so bright he couldn't look straight at her. Around him, the stone walls groaned, and suddenly he knew they would collapse. He swept his eyes around, saw Regis tear through the last garkain, and then his heart stopped.

At the very back of the cave were several cages. And in the cages were the girls. He saw their big, wide eyes, many of them slumping against the bars listlessly, a few lying down. They were alive.

”Regis! Dettlaff!” he howled. Both of the vampires turned to him, and then immediately saw where he was pointing. He heard Dettlaff growl, viciously as he misted to the cages. A few of the girls tried to scream when he slashed through the bars, but they were too exhausted to try to run.

Grey mist came to him, and Regis materialized next him.

”We have to stop Elana!” he yelled over the groaning of the stone and Elana's screaming. “She will collapse the cave!”

”How?” Geralt asked him. His throat felt tight with panic as his eyes kept flicking between the glowing source and Dettlaff, who had turned back into his human form and was gathering the girls together. How could they stop the magic, when all they had his meager witcher signs?

Regis' hand landed on his, covering his shaking fingers with his own on the hilt of his sword.

”I'm sorry, Geralt,” Regis whispered. “We need to set her free.”

And then Geralt understood. He turned to look at Elana, even though it hurt his eyes. Where he had a moment ago seen a creature of destruction, he now saw a small, abused girl; a girl who had been taken from her family and driven crazy. The cult had believed so fervently in the curse of the black sun that it had seeped into the magic they had surrounded their lair with, and for a while it had fooled Geralt as well.

Geralt ran forward. He lifted his sword, fighting against the light which attempted to push him back and protect the girl. He forced his way through, feeling Regis right behind him. It felt like several hours until he reached her. The girl was staring at her, her skin crackling with the magic burning through her.

”I am so sorry,” Geralt whispered. He drove Aerondight straight through her heart.

A total silence followed. In the split second, when the light suddenly pulled back into Elana, he saw her lips turn into a relieved smile, and then something like electricity tore through his arm from his sword. His hand flew off as the girl turned into pure light. Geralt had maybe half a second to pull Regis down with him and pour all of his remaining power into a quen.

Elana's power exploded into white, searing light. The first blast cracked the shield, but it held just long enough for the wave of pure energy to pass. Geralt felt the sign slip from his grasp and he collapsed into the ground.

Regis dragged him up immediately. “Geralt!” he shouted, his voice hoarse with fear. “The roof!”

Geralt turned his head and saw that enormous cracks were starting to spread along the walls and the roof of the cavern. When he turned his head back towards where Dettlaff had been protecting the girls, he caught a glimpse of light hair, and saw that Ciri had come back.

She lowered her arms, and the glittering shield she had held over them all vanished. Her green eyes were wide as she looked towards the roof.

”It's going to collapse,” she rasped. Geralt saw hear take in the situation just as the first rocks started to crumble to the ground.

”You need to go! Take someone and _go_!” he yelled to Ciri, terror searing into his mind and echoed back from Regis.

She lifted her gaze, her eyes wide with fear, and then she shook her head.

”The cave will collapse!” Regis shouted. The vampire was squeezing his hand so tight it hurt, and Geralt felt his normally slow heart beat much too fast. He realized Regis was terrified, and the thought scared him more than anything.

”Ciri, go!” he yelled, and still Ciri didn't do anything. More rocks were falling, and Geralt wanted to cry, when suddenly he saw Ciri close her eyes. He felt something powerful and ancient tear through him, and then everything faded into white, howling light.

 

**IV  
**

 

Someone was shouting at him. There was an cacophony of noises tearing into his head, and all of them seemed to cut so deep into his skull he thought he might puke from the pain. He tried to roll over, because his cheek was pressing against something sharp and uncomfortable, and only then realized someone was lying on top of him.

Geralt forced his eyes open and groaned as lights flashed and swirled around him. There were so many noises, all of them shouting, and he really needed to- to...

_What the hell did he need to do?_

Black eyes opened a few inches from his face. Their owner blinked blearily, and suddenly there was a rush of profound relief inside his head that didn't belong to him.

”Geralt,” Regis rasped. “Oh, thank the gods.”

”What the hell happened?” Geralt groaned as Regis rolled off him and tried to scramble to his feet.

”I don't know,” Regis said. He made it halfway up before his knees buckled and he slumped down. He had a wound on his temple, and blood was slowly trickling down his face.

With a grimace, Geralt forced himself into a sitting position. He could tell right away he had broken at least a few ribs, and the newly mended shoulder was once again throbbing madly.

He looked around, and the swinging feeling eased off a bit. The girls they had found were strewn across a big hall he recognized as one from the imperial building. Servants were running around, clamoring in panic and calling for medics. Geralt tried to swallow, and to his utter relief he saw several of the children were stirring. One or two were crying and calling for their mothers.

Another brush inside his head joined Regis'. Regis let out a choked laughter just as Dettlaff squatted down next to them. His coat had been torn so badly he had simply abandoned it. He was bleeding and holding his left arm in a way that suggested it was broken.

Geralt drew in a breath to speak, but all the words died inside his throat when his eyes landed on a heap lying at the edge of their sorry circle.

Ciri was lying face down on the floor, her skin the color of ash. She wasn’t moving.

A sob of utter terror left Geralt's throat as he scrambled to her. He didn't feel any of his pain as he turned her over with shaking hands. A flash of memory went through him, the long minutes in the Isle of Mists, the helpless darkness, and then his fingers finally found her pulse.

It was weak and irregular, but it was there. Her breathing was shallow and uneven, but she was breathing. Geralt realized he was crying, as he cradled her against his chest gently. He was distantly aware of Dettlaff shouting for a healer, of Regis' fingers checking her pulse too and monitoring it as he called out orders.

Geralt felt like he was in a nightmare, unable to snap free. He’d put Ciri in danger, and now she was barely clinging to life. His daughter, who had saved them all.

Suddenly there was an unfamiliar hand on his shoulder. “Geralt,” a deep voice called to him.

_I know that voice,_ he thought  distantly,  the words never finding their target .

”Let me take her. The healers will tend to her.”

Geralt turned his head. Emhyr was crouching next to him. His normally expressionless face was wrecked with worry and fear as he looked to Ciri. Geralt blinked, and the world took a step closer. Emhyr's hand was still on his shoulder.

“Geralt, please. I promise I will let nothing happen to her,” he said, and Geralt knew Emhyr var Emreis _never_ pleaded, except that now he did.

Geralt let Emhyr take Ciri's slack form from him, and then he carried her away. Geralt slumped against Regis, whose hands came around him. He hissed in pain as his ribs protested the movement.

”You need a healer as well,” Regis said to him. Geralt nodded, before finally finding his voice again.

”Are you okay?” he asked.

Regis smiled. His eyes were bloodshot and tired. “I am. A little battered, but nothing that cannot be fixed.”

”Dettlaff?”

”He broke his arm, but it will mend on its own. He went away to heal,” Regis said quietly, as a healer bustled over to them. Together with Regis she helped Geralt back to his feet and marched him towards a bench at the edge of the room. All around him, Geralt saw mages and healers moving around, as the girls were being taken away. A few of them were still crying, and one or two were frighteningly quiet.

Regis stripped his armor away and the healer muttered to herself as she swept stinging antiseptic across his wounds. Only two needed stitches, and the healer patched him up while Regis sewed him back together. They made him drink something that tasted like a spoiled dose of killer whale, but which dulled the worst of the pain and finally allowed him to think more clearly.

Someone brought him a fresh shirt afterwards, and then he limped towards the wing he knew housed the emperor and the crown princess. Only when he threatened to break into Ciri's room if they wouldn't let him in, was he admitted. He heard Regis mutter apologies to the guards as he pushed the door open.

Ciri was lying in the enormous bed, her face still too pale. Yen was standing over her, red light glowing from her hands. Emhyr was hovering at the foot of the bed, his face once again void of emotions. His eyes turned to him as he entered, but they immediately returned to Ciri.

Geralt crept into the room and sank down into one of the chairs next to the bed. Yen's eyes met his, and she gave him a tight smile before resuming muttering words he didn't understand at the moment. Regis sat next to him and took his hand.

When Ciri finally stirred, it was just past two in the morning. Geralt stumbled out of his chair and almost collapsed next to the bed. Ciri's face tightened and then she blinked her eyes open. Geralt reached to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. He was smiling so widely it hurt.

”Hey,” he whispered. “How are you feeling?”

”Like I've been run over by a shaelmaar,” Ciri mumbled. “Is everyone okay?”

Regis leaned down and smiled at her. “You brought everyone back. Three of the girls were so weak that their situation is still uncertain, but the rest will most likely make full recovery,” the vampire told her. He sounded so achingly proud of her, and Geralt realized it was probably exactly like he sounded when he was talking about Ciri.

”Good,” she sighed and closed her eyes.

Yen sat on the edge of the bed and started to stroke her hair. “You depleted yourself almost completely,” she told Ciri in a motherly voice. “You'll be on bed rest for a week after this.”

”Three days,” Ciri mumbled, already slipping back into sleep. Geralt snorted with laughter, and Yen rolled her eyes.

He scrambled back to his feet, and suddenly his own exhaustion crashed through him. He could feel Regis hovering by his shoulder as he rubbed a hand down his face.

”She's gonna be alright?” he asked, and Yen gave a nod.

”Yes. She only needs to rest.” She smiled. “I guess I should be angry with you, but I'm just so proud of her. She saved all those girls.”

”And our sorry asses,” Geralt added, and Regis gave a hearty nod.

Yen laughed. “Go get some sleep. You look like you'll keel over any second now. Regis, make sure he sleeps, will you?”

”I will, my lady,” Regis said solemnly and then ruined the image by answering her smirk with a knowing wink. Geralt nodded to Emhyr, who didn't seem to notice them at all when they left.

They were halfway down the corridor when Geralt heard a voice call after him. He turned around, and saw Emhyr walking towards him.

”I'll wait outside,” Regis mumbled to him and slipped out of the door.

Geralt felt apprehensive, all of a sudden. His mind recalled the pain-hazed memory of Emhyr looking like a human when he’d watched Ciri's unconscious form. He had talked to Geralt like the witcher was his equal.

”If you want to be angry at someone, choose me,” he said preemptively. “Ciri saved us all. She's a goddamn hero, and if you make her feel like anything less-”

”I will not,” Emhyr interrupted him.

”You- What?” Geralt said. He felt like he had missed a step while descending stairs.

”Cirilla's deeds will be made known to all,” Emhyr said quietly. “She will be loved dearly for saving those children, and there shall not be a single person in the whole of Novigrad that will not revere her for it.”

Geralt knew it was true. But the way Emhyr said it sat wrong with him.

”She didn't do it to gain public support,” he said and frowned. “She did it because it was the right fucking thing to do.”

Emhyr looked at him for a long time, and Geralt was suddenly sure he was being estimated. In the shadowy corridor Emhyr’s brown eyes were like those of some nocturnal predator. When the emperor finally spoke, he did so very slowly, clearly choosing his words with extreme care.

”Geralt, you are the man who raised Cirilla. You have a lasting place in her heart, and you know that. You have always given her the choice, always spoken against those who would use her for her powers.” Emhyr paused, as if making sure Geralt was listening. When he continued, his voice was quiet but strong.

”But you need to understand that Cirilla has chosen to become empress. She chose a life that is much more complicated than that of a witcher. She will need to grow up very quickly, and learn to see things from a new perspective. It is a daunting task, and I have devoted everything I have to see her safely to the throne. You must respect her decision and let her grow into a ruler.”

Geralt opened his mouth, but all the words were gone. Emhyr was looking at him keenly, a faint frown creasing his brow. “She looks up to you, and she needs your support just as much as she needs mine. But she also needs to know you accept her choice, and don't resent her for it.”

With that, Emhyr turned away and returned to Ciri's room. Geralt stood frozen in the dark hallway, and suddenly intense shame was creeping up his spine.

Emhyr had seen right through him. Somehow the man had taken a step back from their mutual distrust and shone a light right into the ugly parts of him, forcing Geralt to face them and see them for what they were. Geralt leaned against the wall and drew in a shuddering breath.

Emhyr was right. Geralt had told everyone he accepted Ciri's choice, but deep inside an oozing wound had kept bleeding. It had not healed, and its poison had seeped into everything, making him offer sarcastic remarks about her new life, be they to their friends or to her face.

What good was he as a father, if he couldn't accept that his child had made a choice he couldn't understand, but that he knew was right?

Regis looked at him with wide, worried eyes when he slipped out. Geralt shook his head, not wanting to talk right then. His throat felt raw and tight, and guilt was roiling inside him.

***

During the following days, Regis sensed that something was bothering Geralt immensely. Given that the vampire had felt the stab of distress as Geralt had been talking with the emperor, he assumed it had something to do with what they had talked about. It was without a doubt concerning Cirilla, because little else in this world could twist Geralt into such knots.

Geralt and Regis spent most of their time by Cirilla's bedside. She was making a fast recovery, and only complained occasionally when the emperor demanded she focus her attention to her studies in stead of playing Gwent with Geralt. Regis could see she was doing well, but his bond with Geralt was feeling stormy whenever they were together.

“I understand now why you complained about having to stay in bed,” Ciri groaned to Geralt on the third day. The witcher grinned at her.

“I also remember someone telling me she would sit on me if I tried to get out of bed too early,” he said thoughtfully as he picked through his deck. “Do I need to return the favor?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ciri answered. She was in good humors despite still tiring easily. Color was returning to her cheeks. “Tell me again what the cultist said before stabbing Elana? It keeps bothering me.”

Geralt set his cards down and frowned. “He said the issuer of the prophecy had left them instructions how to command lesser vampires. The rest was mostly incomprehensible gabble about the holy purpose,” he said.

Regis felt Ciri’s bright eyes turn towards him, and he knew what she was thinking.

“I have no knowledge of any of my kind who’d chosen to associate with humans to that extent,” he said quietly. “The thought makes me uneasy, because those four we encountered were without a doubt human.”

“So… Is it possible the real culprit is still out there?” Ciri asked. Geralt shrugged, looking to Regis. The vampire sighed and thought back.

“I sensed no one else in that cavern, excluding myself and Dettlaff. If a higher vampire has been involved in the cult, it’s possible they have done so in the past and then left when it ceased to amuse them,” he said carefully.

“It’s worth investigating,” Geralt said. Regis’ eyes snapped to the witcher, who looked back defiantly. “We need to make sure they’re gone.”

“If a higher vampire has been involved, there is very little you can do,” Regis countered. He was feeling a creeping dread inside his gut, until the bond blanketed his mind with reassurance.

“Regis, I am not going to declare a war to higher vampires. But I need to know this won’t happen again,” Geralt said and covered his hand with his own.

“I know,” Regis muttered. “But you know how the thought of you going against one of my people makes me feel.”

“I know,” Geralt echoed his own words back to him. He looked stubborn, but Regis decided to trust him. It was becoming easier

“I’m not going to lie, I would feel a lot better if I knew the cult has been thoroughly dealt with,” Ciri begun. She was looking conflicted. “But I trust when Regis says it could be dangerous. So I’m asking you to be careful.”

A short knock interrupted them. Ciri’s expression turned curious and then openly delighted when the door opened and Rosa var Attre stepped in. She was looking a lot better. Her hair was in a long, simple braid that reached the small of her back. Her left eye was black and swollen, but otherwise she seemed to be in good health.

“Rosa!” Ciri exclaimed and motioned for her to come sit on the bed. “How are you?”

Rosa carefully sat down and smiled to Ciri. “I’m doing well. Edna has been positively hovering for the past days, but I finally managed to escape her.” She swept a curious glance over Ciri. “You look horrible, if you forgive me saying so.”

Ciri threw her head back and laughed, and the sound seemed to ease something inside all of them.

“I’m getting better,” she chuckled. “Yen makes me drink foul medicines thrice a day, and Geralt and Regis make sure I’m basically tied to my bed.”

“That’s good,” Rosa smiled. Then her face turned serious. “I want to thank you for saving me.”

Ciri looked at her, her eyes growing solemn. Before she could come up with an answer, Rosa continued. “I know you would have saved anyone who was in trouble, but nonetheless I feel I’m in your debt.”

Ciri reached out and took her hand. Her smile was a bit sad. “Yes, but I’m especially glad I managed to save you. Losing friends is horrible.”

Rosa’s cheeks colored and she looked down at their joined hands. There was a tense silence and then she squeezed Ciri’s hand in return.

“My father has been apprehended,” she finally said, looking back up. “He is currently being interrogated about his connections to Francis Bedlam.”

“Miss Rosa, if you don’t mind us asking, what were those connections?” Regis asked.

Rosa shook her head at his hesitation. “Papa has been involved in the black market of smuggling medicines and such into the city through the Redanian blockades during the war. He also had a lot of dealings with mages and sorceresses before they left the city. He and Bedlam discovered they have common goals, and instead of competing, they struck up a deal of sorts,” Rosa explained. She noticed Geralt’s lifted eyebrow and gave him a wry smile. “I eavesdropped a lot. My life was terribly dull at the time, and papa’s shady business was the most interesting thing to happen. It was also the time I started to sneak out of the house at night.”

“Not that I don’t understand why you’d do that,” Geralt said as he frowned. “But why go into the Bits? I’m sure you could’ve found an instructor from a less dangerous place in the city.”

Rosa looked him straight in the eye. “You do remember how I told you I was disappointed you didn’t kill those bandit who threatened me?”

The witcher nodded, and Regis was reminded of their conversation. Rosa cleared her throat, looking uncomfortable.

“I didn’t understand why you seemed so disappointed with me, then. But after I heard papa talk about benefiting from the purge of mages, I started to feel...suspicious. I didn’t like the way he thought it was all fine as long as his own interests didn’t suffer. So I started to sneak out and talk to people. I realized the things I had been taught had been largely false,” she finished. She looked both resolute and embarrassed. “I could’ve started to use my brain earlier, true, but I tried to make up for it by paying to a half-elf to teach me fencing.”

“How’d you even find an instructor in the Bits?” Ciri asked. Her voice was torn between admiration and amusement. Rosa coughed a little.

“I went to talk to this elven smith in the Glory Lane, who pointed me to her,” Rosa said. “The smith told me she could use the coin because she has a child. She’s a former Scoia’tael, and there isn’t a lot of work for such a person in the city.”

G eralt huffed a laugh. “Éibhear,” Regis heard him mutter. Then the witcher looked back at Rosa.

“The mage who kidnapped you, he said he’d struck a deal with your father. Do you know anything about it?”

Rosa frowned. “No. It’s been bothering me, but I haven’t had a chance to speak with papa yet,” she said. She looked conflicted. “I always thought he was a good man, but after I found out he’d been working with Bedlam I felt so angry.”

Ciri squeezed her hand gently, and Rosa looked up at her like she’d forgotten they were touching. “Give him a chance to explain,” Ciri said quietly. “Bedlam was an asshole who benefited from the mages’ agony, but he did help them instead of turning them in.”

“But what could he say that could make it better?” Rosa asked in a pained voice. Ciri smiled a sad smile as her thumb stroked her hand.

“I don’t know. But if you wish to hear an explanation, he might have one. Not a good one, or one that justifies his actions, but one that helps you forgive him. If you wish to, that is.”

Regis knew Cirilla was talking about her own father, then.  His throat felt tight when he realized she was offering Rosa the kind of advice she herself had likely received from no one. Ciri had managed push away her own anger well enough to start reaching for a piece of mind. Regis glanced at Geralt, and saw he was biting his lip, clearly seeing the exact same thing Regis was.

The vampire had observed the emperor with his daughter for several times and felt conflicted, but the past days had told him the man cared deeply. Regis had seen his face when he had carried Cirilla away from Geralt,  and it had been so very human his own apprehension of the man had slipped away. It had been restored later, but not as strong as before. Regis still wouldn’t dream of crossing Emhyr var Emreis, but now he could see him as a father as well as a ruler.

R osa looked at Ciri. Her eyes were a bit less haunted. “I will think about it,” she said. Suddenly she withdrew her hand and brought it to her chin, looking thoughtful. “Do you still wish to learn how to braid hair?”

Ciri’s face broke into a grin. “Yes!”

Regis and Geralt ended up watching as Rosa sat Ciri down on a cushion and then meticulously worked open the various knots and tangles before starting to braid it into a simple but elegant plait. She made Geralt hold up a mirror so Ciri could see what she was doing. The witcher g r umbled about not being a  house maid,  but Regis knew he didn’t mind. If anything, Geralt was starting to like Rosa, despite his earlier misgivings about the woman.

Rosa was finishing the plait when her eyes found Regis’. Her expression turned inquisitive, and Regis knew right away what was coming.

“Master Regis,” Rosa begun slowly as her fingers worked the plait into place. Ciri heard the change in her tone and craned up her neck. “I saw you and your friend back at the cavern, and I know you are not humans.”

Regis heard the question in her voice, and offered her a nod. He appreciated her straightforward way of broaching a topic that was undoubtedly difficult; it reminded him of Dettlaff.

“It’s true. I can only hope we didn’t frighten you too much.”

Rosa shook her head. She had finished with the plait, but her hands stayed on Ciri’s shoulders, resting there unconsciously as she searched for words. Regis wondered, fleetingly, if this was how she had talked about difficult issues with her mother and sister, in the past; one braiding the other’s hair, both drawing strength from the contact and trust.

“I was much more scared of the cultists and the mage,” Rosa finally said. “But I find it curious that you should be together with a witcher, if you’re a vampire. That’s what you are, right?” she added and looked him in the eye. Regis inclined his head in affirmation.

“It’s true, and yes, it is curious,” he said calmly. He could feel Geralt tensing up, but before he could come up with anything else, Rosa chuckled.

“And here I thought the most interesting thing about you was the fact that the famous witcher had found himself a life partner who both speaks Nilfgaardian and is a doctor by trade,” she mused, causing Cirilla to laugh out loud.

When Rosa noticed Geralt was scowling at her, she smirked mischievously, completely unperturbed  by the witcher’s surly expression . “Come now, you didn’t think I could miss out on any of the court gossip? You have met my sister, have you not?”

***

Cirilla was released from bed rest after five days. By then, the whole city of Novigrad knew that the crown princess had saved fifteen girls from the hands of a nefarious cult. Only one of the girls had died of her wounds; she had been only four years old, and had been the third one to be abducted. The emperor made sure her family received a place of honor at the festivities that were arranged in honor of Cirilla.

Regis stood with Geralt a bit further away, as Emhyr var Emreis spoke to the gathered masses of people in Gildorf Square. Cirilla was standing beside her father, her back straight and looking every bit like the crown princess.

”She looks right at home,” Geralt said, as Cirilla stepped up and addressed the people. Her voice, amplified by magic, carried across the square, ringing in the crisp autumn air.

”She does. And her Nilfgaardian is definitely improving,” Regis smiled. Geralt chuckled, but then fell silent. Regis saw his eyes move to the emperor, and the conflicted feeling danced across the bond again.

Before Regis could ask, Geralt sighed and looked at him. His eyes were sad, but in a way that spoke of a resolved inner conflict.

”I've been having a hard time accepting that she's not my little girl anymore,” Geralt said as he turned back to look at Cirilla. She was receiving a bouquet of flowers from some of the girls who had recovered enough to be present today. Regis put his hand on the small of Geralt's back, not saying anything.

”I felt...angry that she chose Emhyr over me, in the end. I had always been so certain I was raising her to become a witcher,” Geralt continued. “I spent so many months looking for her, and then fought with her, watched her go through that portal Avallac'h opened for her... And then she left me suddenly, because she didn't even dare tell me what she had chosen before the escort was right there.”

Geralt's voice was rough, and the bond was full of shame, making it jumpy. Regis soothed it, pushing his love across until the witcher relaxed minutely.

”You are human, my love,” he said quietly. “You have feelings, and sometimes they can mislead you. What is important is that you eventually recognize those thoughts that are not healthy.”

Geralt drew in a breath. He was looking defeated.

”I feel like I've failed her somehow,” he whispered. Regis brought his hand under his chin and forced him to meet his gaze.

”You have not,” he enunciated with care. “You have been there for her for many years, and you will continue to do so. And you will grow as you do, so that you can offer her the kind of support she needs.”

The aching feeling faded a touch, and Regis knew Geralt would heal eventually. He knew the witcher needed time to sort through the tangles of his emotions. Geralt's life had been so full of events and people that Regis suspected he sometimes latched onto the most prominent ones to have some semblance of stability. It was not necessarily healthy, but it was a very understandable way of dealing with things.

And what mattered was the fact that Geralt was ready to acknowledge his flaws and find ways to grow. Regis watched as Geralt's eyes followed Cirilla, and he saw and felt the overwhelming pride the witcher experienced whenever he looked at his daughter. Regis turned to watch as Cirilla turned to greet Rosa var Attre, who had apparently refused any kinds of glamours to cover up her black eye. Cirilla leaned closer to whisper something to Rosa, and suddenly the woman was giggling and blushing. Regis smiled at the sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading! <3
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think about the plot and the characters, because this one was decidedly more of my own work than Heartsease. I loved writing this.

**Author's Note:**

> I made some notations about writing this fic earlier, they can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15952901


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